


The Boy King's Vengeance

by ashitanoyuki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angels, Boyking!Sam, Cannibalism, Collars, Dark Sam Winchester, Demons, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, Gender Roles, Genocide, Gore, Hurt Sam Winchester, Infanticide, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Murder, Omega Castiel, Omega Jimmy Novak, Omega Sam, Omega Verse, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Underage, Sam 'Boy King of Hell' Winchester, Sexual Slavery, Social Justice, Torture, War, attempted genocide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashitanoyuki/pseuds/ashitanoyuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t until Sam was seventeen that Dean saw a problem in the way the world treated Omegas. By that point, Sam knew all too well the horrors inflicted upon members of his sex. When his only viable chance at freedom falls through, Sam finds himself trapped and enslaved, his hatred of the world growing with each passing day.</p>
<p>Fortunately for Sam, there are others out there who would love to see the human race burn. Rescued from slavery by Azazel and his followers, Sam eagerly takes to his new role as their leader, their general-in-training, their Boy King. Nothing will quench his thirst for revenge or subdue his ire, not until the rubble of Heaven and Earth collapses into Hell.</p>
<p>It's too bad that Dean and his pesky angel friend Castiel seem determined to come between Sam and his vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's Block continues to plague me in regards to basically all my other stories, but this pesky little fly doesn't want to let me go. This was supposed to be a slightly angsty hurt/comfort one-shot. I need to stop writing those. They never stay one-shots for long.
> 
> Warning for obligatory long opening note!
> 
> Omega verse. What is it about Omega verse? I could wax poetic about it all day, but I'll settle with saying that it is a very useful way to examine social injustice in the world through a fantastical and inflated lens. And that's what I'm trying to do here. Obviously, the extent of institutional inequality reaches even further in this story than it does in the real world, because story-telling allows for that sort of thing. So lovely, yet so sad.
> 
> This is not a happy story. (Do I even need to warn for that anymore? I've had that warning in all my multi-chapter stories.) Hell, I can't even promise a happy ending (I'm still flirting with several different possible ways to finish this). Contains institutionalized rape, institutionalized sex slavery, institutionalized inequality of the sexes, references to underage, graphic violence, graphic rape, graphic torture, villainous monologues, cannibalism, baby eating, attempted genocide, war, basically if you read the tags you'll get an idea. NOT. A happy story. At all.
> 
> Still, the fandom needs more Boy King, and I need more chances to write dark stuff and explore social justice from a dreadfully dystopian lens, so what the heck. Go forth and enjoy this dreadful world! I'm planning biweekly updates on Sundays and Thursdays, but I am awful at sticking to a schedule, so it may be more often, or it may be less often.

It wasn’t until Sam was seventeen that Dean saw a problem in the way the world treated Omegas.

Oh, sure, it was annoying to have to check every morning that Sam’s collar had not come off in his sleep, that he had his papers in his wallet— _owned by one John Winchester, relationship: father—_ that he had his pass before leaving the motel room, but it was simply that—an annoyance. It wasn’t as though the laws pertaining to Omegas had any real effect on their lives, moving as often as they did. True, there was that time when Sam’s collar had fallen off in the library and they had been forced to pick him up at the county Omega center, and newly met hunters tended to give the young Omega a side-eye when they dropped by the dives and bars, but that was just how the world worked. In any case, in a hunter’s life, there was no room for discrimination. When the Omega in question could out-fight any Alpha in the bar, could research and retain better than Bobby Singer himself, most hunters tended to let the sex issue slide.

And then one day, Dean got a panicked call from his brother that would turn his world on its head.

_“Dean!”_ Sam sounded frantic, scared and trapped like the time that vampire coven in Fargo had gotten hold of him while Dean and John fought. _“Dean, you need to get to the library—please!”_

“Hold on, hold on,” Dean said, jamming his feet into scuffed brown boots. “I’m like fifteen minutes away, Sammy. Can’t it wait?”

_“No!”_ Sam was breathless; Dean frowned, hurrying out to the car. What on earth could have his brother so freaked out? _“This Alpha came up behind me in the library, and tried—I mean, I got away, and I’m hiding, but what if he finds me?”_

“That’s what this is?” Dean scowled, sliding into the driver’s seat of the Impala. “Sammy, you can kick any scumbag’s ass ten times over.”

_“There are cameras.”_ Holy shit, was his brother about to cry? _“You know the law about Omegas fighting back against Alphas. I can’t do anything that could hurt him—not if I could get caught.”_

Oh. _Any Omega who attempts to cause bodily harm to any Alpha or Beta shall be taken from its family or master and be subject to government recalibration, until such time as the Omega in question learns to respect its betters, or until three months have passed, by which point the Omega will be subject to termination._ John had drilled the law into their heads when Sammy had presented, warning his brother against acting out anywhere he could be seen. It wasn’t a law upheld in the crappy motels and hunter bars they usually frequented, but in a public library? “I’m on my way,” he promised, speeding out of the motel parking lot. “Hold on, okay? Where are you?”

_“Supply closet.”_ Sam’s breath hitched. _“Please, Dean, hurry!”_

“Hang on, Sammy. I’ll get there,” Dean promised, swiftly hanging up the phone. There were laws against assaulting owned Omegas, but such incidents were treated as theft of services, and rarely prosecuted. He had just never imagined that his brother would be on the short end of such a law. Well, Sammy might not legally be allowed to protect himself, but Dean could. No one would bat an eye at an Alpha defending his father’s property.

Dean made it to the library in ten minutes and sprinted through the doors, shoving past books and patrons as he made his way to the back. A large, balding Alpha stood at the supply closet door, banging his meaty fist against the hollow metal barrier. “Come on out, sweet cheeks, no reason to be afraid,” the man drawled, rattling the handle. “I know you’re dripping for it, slut. Quit playing hard to get!”

“Hey!” Dean shoved the man out of the way, growling low in his throat as he faced down the interloper. “That’s my brother, dickwipe!”

The Alpha looked up at his face, fleshy lips twisted in a sneer. “Aw, don’t be such a killjoy,” he complained, raising an eyebrow at Dean. “It’s just a whore. Don’t we all got the right to have a little fun now and again?”

Dean glared at the man, drawing himself up to his full height. “Okay, I’m going to say this one more time, and if you’re still here when I’m done I’m going to beat you into the floor,” he snarled, blood pounding in his ears. “Walk away like the piece of scum you are and leave my brother alone. He doesn’t want you. Shit, I doubt anyone would.”

“So?” The man puffed himself up indignantly. “It’s just an Omega. Who cares if it—”

Dean’s fist connected squarely with the other man’s nose, producing a satisfying crunch. Blood pooled from the man’s face; he snarled, launching himself at Dean. Dean dodged and kicked him in the ribs, sending the Alpha sprawling across the library floor. “Walk away before I really get going!” he shouted furiously.

“Sirs?” A reedy Beta poked her head around the corner, glaring at them with clear disapproval. “I’m going to have to ask you both to leave. This is a quiet space.”

“Did you even hear the guy?” Dean demanded in disbelief. “He was trying to attack my brother!”

“We don’t tolerate fights in the library,” the woman said primly. “Please take it outside.”

Dean snarled and wrenched open the door to the supply closet. Sam looked up at him, blinking, his eyes huge in his thin face. “Come on, Sammy,” he said, extending a hand towards his brother. Sam took the proffered hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Sam was quiet the entire walk to the car, and the whole ride back. Dean simmered, ill-concealed rage boiling in his gut. “Damnit, Sam, say something!” he shouted when the car was parked safely outside their motel room.

“Like what?” Sam asked dully, staring at his hands. “’S not the first time something like that’s happened, and it won’t be the last. I could have handled it if it weren’t for the security cameras.”

“Wait. Hold on a minute,” Dean commanded, his head snapping around to stare at his brother. “This has happened before?”

Sam’s lips twitched in a wry, bitter grin. “Are you stupid, or just naïve?” he demanded. “Of course it’s happened. Shit, Dean, I can’t step outside the motel without getting propositioned, and a lot of people don’t want to take no for an answer. They’re not used to seeing Omegas going around unsupervised.”

“But…” Dean frowned, confused. “But you’ve got your collar! And your papers, and your pass!”

“All that means is that the government can’t repossess me,” Sam retorted. “It doesn’t keep me safe from whatever knothead thinks they’ve got the right to go after any passing Omega. The rest of the world isn’t all hunters, Dean.”

It didn’t make any sense. “So, you’re telling me that you’ve had people try to--to rape you before.” The word left a foul taste in Dean's mouth.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” he replied snippily. “Why is this any sort of surprise? Dad knows it happens. Why do you think he keeps a supply of morning after pills on hand? It’s not like I exactly get to go out and have lots of consensual sex.” The casual way Sam was speaking—Dean couldn’t wrap his head around it. “You do realize that Omegas are just glorified sex toys and breeding machines in the eyes of the law, don’t you?”

Dean supposed he did know that, but it was completely different when he thought of his brother in that situation. “How can you be so calm about this?” he demanded furiously.

“I’m _not_ calm.” Sam glanced up, glaring at his brother. “I’m furious. I’m humiliated. Every time I have to put this fucking collar on, like I’m someone’s pet dog, I want to punch something. Every time some asshole drags me into the bathroom and tries to pull down my pants, I want to snap their necks. But you know what? That’s life, Dean. That’s _my_ life, and there’s no getting around it.”

God, Dean hoped that Dad had a solid lead on this werewolf in town, because Dean needed to kill something. Sam shook his head and exited the car, slamming the door behind him. “Come on,” he snapped, stalking towards the door and waiting for Dean to unlock the room. Sam didn’t have his own key; it was forbidden to give room or house keys to Omegas. Can’t have the bitches forgetting their place. Dean had never realized how awful that was.

Sam ripped the collar from his neck as soon as the door was shut and threw it into the corner, glaring at the thick band of leather. “Killings go back two years,” he said abruptly, and Dean supposed that their earlier topic of conversation was closed. “Once a month, every full moon. Hearts ripped out. Open and shut werewolf case for sure. Any idea if Dad’s got a lead?”

“No clue.” Dean kicked off his boots and pulled open the mini-fridge, snagging a beer. After a moment’s hesitation, he tossed one to Sam. Underage and an Omega—a double whammy in terms of the law, but damnit, if he were Sam he’d want a drink right now. His brother caught the beer and cracked it open without protest, taking a long drink from the can.

“Well, I’m good to go whenever he gets one,” Sam said, setting his drink down on the side table. “Not much more to do in terms of research, I guess?”

Dean shook his head and waved his hand at the footlocker in the corner. “Guns could use some cleaning,” he said, tossing his brother the keys. “I’m gonna go back out and question the vic’s girlfriend. I don’t think Dad’s gotten to her yet. You going to be good here?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Sam unlocked the footlocker and grabbed one of the guns, dismantling it with the ease of long practice.

Dean nodded, and picked up Sam’s collar. “Keep this close,” he ordered, tossing the hated object at his brother, who wrinkled his nose. “I mean it, Sam. I really don’t feel like picking you up from the can tonight, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grumbled, rubbing a cloth over the gun with more vigor than necessary. Dean sighed and turned to leave, locking the door behind him.

The girlfriend in question, a small, slight Beta, cried through the whole questioning, but when he was finished, Dean was pretty sure that they had a solid lead: Hector Mulligan, a former buddy turned rival of the victim, who he could link to at least three of the other vics off the top of his head. He’d double-check with Sam—his brother was always the one with a memory for names.

John had returned by the time Dean got back to the motel, and microwaveable pot pies sat out on the end table, slightly cooled. “Hector Mulligan,” his father said abruptly when Dean entered the room.

“Looks like we came to the same conclusion,” Dean said, grabbing a fork and digging into the tasteless meal.

John nodded, his gaze distant. “Full moon’s coming up in a few days,” he said shortly. “We’ll double check then, make sure we’re not going after the wrong bastard. You two.” Dean glanced up from his food. “Hand to hand tonight. Bed at 22 hundred, got it?”

“Dad,” Dean complained, “I was going to poker night at that bar on the corner! We’re short on money!”

“No,” John replied firmly. “Fun and games come after the job.”

Dean bit his lip—it wasn’t fun and games. Not when they were down to a few microwaveable meals and old beef jerky, not when he’d been wearing the same pair of unwashed socks for three days in a row. Still, he knew better than to argue with his father, so he gulped down the rest of his pot pie and stripped off his shirt. “I’ll attack first,” he said with a grin, giving Sam just enough time to leap to his feet before he lunged.

0o0o0o0o0

Mulligan went down easy, an open-and-shut job, and they were back on the road the next morning. After the kill, Dean had gone down to the bar to rustle up some money from the local pool wannabes, the memory of their shocked faces making him grin even as sleep pulled at his eyes. Off to Tallahassee, with plans to meet John at the local Motel Six, it was just him and Sam in the car, belting out tunes off key while wind whipped through the open windows, ruffling Dean’s short, damp hair.

Dean and Sam waited in the car while John got the room keys—two copies, none for Sam—and then they headed into the room, squabbling over who would take possession of the cheap, cracked dresser in the corner. John unloaded their sparse supplies silently from the back of his truck and Sam threw a pair of wadded up boxers at Dean’s head, distracting him long enough to snag the TV remote.

A knock on the motel door cut through their easy reverie; Dean ran a thumb over his colt 22 while John peered through the peephole. “It’s the owner,” John muttered, checking the salt line before he pulled the door open, scattering granules across the stained carpet. “Yes?” he asked gruffly, glaring down at the small man.

“Don’t mean to bother you,” the owner said, raising his hands quickly. “Just that we’ve had some incidents at the motel in the past, so I do a check in on all the guests who bring along Omegas.”

Sam tensed, his fingers tightening around the remote. Oblivious, the owner continued. “I don’t like having peacekeepers sniffing around my motel, so make sure you keep your Omega collared, even in the room, okay? ‘Specially if you keep the blinds open. Don’t need anyone calling in an infraction, you understand?”

“Got it,” John snapped. Dean growled low in his throat, glaring at the owner, who threw him a passing look.

“That’s all. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Lennon.” The owner smiled nervously and backed away. John scowled and closed the door, then turned to face his sons.

“Well, you heard him,” John said, making a face. “The collar stays on, Sam.”

Sam groaned. “Dad, seriously?” he complained. “The damn thing itches.”

“Yeah, I know, son,” John said, and he almost sounded sympathetic. “But the last thing I want is to lose you, so just—play along, okay? We’ll head out in a few days, and you can take it off then.”

“Whatever,” Sam muttered sullenly, turning his face back towards the television and flicking the volume up. Dean shook his head—seriously, what did it matter if Sam stayed collared in the privacy of their own room?—before leaning back on the couch, settling in to tolerate Sam’s godawful, boring documentary.

They passed several long, dull days in the motel before John got wind of a rugaru in Oregon, and they were off to hunt that sonofabitch down. Dean had never noticed before, but Sam was markedly more relaxed on the west coast, where sex-based laws were less restrictive and he could forgo the collar indoors without having to worry about risking arrest. All these things he had never paid attention to, and noticing them made him uncomfortable.

He would ask Sam about it if that would not be a violation of Dean Winchester’s number one rule: no chick flick moments. Still, as the next several months passed, he found himself uncomfortably aware of his brother’s interactions with the world. The way his mouthy, bitchy brother kept his head down in public, his avoidance of strange Alphas when they ventured outside their usual haunts, the way he always situated himself by an escape route—Dean would have chalked those things up to hunter’s instinct, but now he questioned that easy answer. What if Sam was so careful not because he was wary of a supernatural attack, but of sheer human brutality? Humans. Dean didn’t think he would ever understand them.

It was only a few days after Sam’s eighteenth birthday, and Dean was half-drunk and happy from a stint at the bar, when he wandered in on a fight between his brother and his father. Hardly a new occurrence, Dean made his way over to his suitcase, but came up short when his father’s words reached his ears.

“You don’t get to just walk out on the family like this!” John roared, pounding the table furiously.

“I’m not walking out on the family,” Sam snapped, his fist clenched protectively around a thick, creamy envelope. “I’m trying to get some semblance of normalcy in my life! Going to Stanford-O is the best shot I’ll ever have at any kind of independent existence!”

“You have independent existence in this family!” John shouted, his face purpling with rage.

“Oh, yeah, sneaking around clutching at papers, keeping my head down and hiding away in the room unless we’re out hunting and researching. Did it ever occur to you that I want to do something with my life—something of my own? I don’t exactly have a lot of opportunities, Dad!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean said, cutting in swiftly. “Stanford-O?” The Omega college? He’d heard of it, of course—it was the only institution of its kind, a ground-breaking place that asserted that Omegas had the same rights to an education as Alphas and Betas. Graduates of Stanford-O were exempt from the practice of Omega sales, exempt from the laws of collaring and passes, required only to carry their certificate of graduation to move through normal society. It was even rumored that some places were willing to hire graduates of the college for low level jobs, giving a select few Omegas the chance to live almost as freely as Alphas or Betas. It was also nearly impossible to secure entrance; applicants had to prove that they were equal to the other sexes in every way, and given that it was the only school of its kind, competition was stiff. That Sam could have gotten in off their sporadic homeschooling was nearly impossible to believe.

Sam whirled around, glaring at Dean. “Yes, Dean,” he snapped. “Stanford-O. My one chance to actually be a legal _person,_ not just an Omega slave. Don’t you dare try to keep me from this! Either of you!”

“Dude, I’m not going to stop you,” Dean said, raising his hands in surrender. A pang shot through his chest at the idea of losing Sam to some school, but he could understand his brother’s reasons. He wouldn’t want to be subject to all the restrictions placed on Omegas either.

“It’s not as simple as attend school, be free,” John snapped. “It’s dangerous, Sam! Dean and I won’t be there to protect you if some stupid thug decides it’s a bright idea to steal you!”

Sam laughed bitterly. “Oh, and hunting’s safe,” he retorted angrily. “I’ve been mauled by werewolves, bitten by vampires, nearly got eviscerated during that witch hunt in Sacramento, but college! God forbid!”

“Your brother and I were there to back you up all those times!” John yelled.

“And it’s smothering!” Sam shouted furiously. “I can’t hunt on my own, hell I can hardly leave the room on my own! For once in my life, I’m doing something for myself, and you can’t stop me!”

Technically they could. Dean knew that all it would take would be a simple set of papers, and John could instantly nullify his Omega son’s college acceptance—but from the look on his father’s face, he knew John wouldn’t do that. The man was too proud to throw around his Alpha status to control his son. “Fine,” John said finally, his voice heavy. “Go, then. You want so badly to go to this school, then I won’t stop you. But mark me, Sam—you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

A muscle twitched in Sam’s throat, leaping against his thick black collar. “Good,” he snapped. “I won’t bother you again. Hell, I’ll go now.”

“Sammy, wait,” Dean pleaded. Sam threw him a furious glance. “How are you going to get to California? At least let me drive you.”

Sam scowled, but from the look on his face, he knew Dean was right. An Omega could not purchase a bus ticket or pay for a taxi—Omegas were not supposed to handle money without an explicit permission slip signed by their Alpha or Beta detailing the exact nature of their purchase, and transportation was explicitly exempt from such permissions. “Sure, Dean,” he said finally. “Whatever.”

And that was how Dean found himself driving the long road to California, his brother silent and angry in the seat beside him. There were provisions to allow students to move in early at Standford-O for the convenience of their guardians and owners, so Dean set Sam up in his dorm room as soon as they set foot on the campus. With a final hug and a heavy heart, Dean left his brother, and the passenger seat of the Impala felt empty and wrong the entire drive back to the motel.


	2. The World Rack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel Castiel is bound to human form; Sam suffers the tremendous consequences of an innocent mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to call this update the result of "new story fever." Guess since I have several chapters pre-written I'll give myself some slack on the biweekly plan. The next scheduled update is still Thursday, but since I am impatient, I may update before then.
> 
> A note on my use of OCs; they are utterly disposable. I don't like using OCs in fanfiction, but since I am not entirely sure who I'm going to need in future chapters, I'd rather not twist any of SPN's characters to fit these roles. They're cardboard cut-outs of characters regardless, so I figure that it hardly matters. Other chapter notes: Sam's scene here was originally later in the story. I moved it up after cutting out some unnecessary scenes. His circumstances will be explained, but I have no idea if this is going to be confusing for other people, so please, let me know! 
> 
> Also, because I did not mention before: I am a huge comment whore. Seriously. Please comment--I will love you forever. Whether it's to whisper sweet nothings or kick my ass with a hardcore critique, I appreciate feedback. Mindless hate is unnecessary, but criticism is something I can always use, so if I'm doing something stupid, something seems wrong, anything of that sort--seriously. Nothing makes me happier.
> 
> Warnings: Kidnap, enslavement, graphic rape, forced orgasm, self-congratulatory villains.

_Perhaps I should have done more research before taking this vessel._

Sigils bound Castiel inside his Omega host, trapping him in place, preventing him from fleeing the human body for heaven. Not that he would abandon Jimmy Novak—it was his own fault that the man was in such a position. Ignorant of human ways, Castiel had removed the restrictive collar that labeled Jimmy as property of Amelia Novak when he left the man’s house; in his carelessness, he had brought neither papers nor pass with him. He had hardly been walking for five minutes before he was picked up by a group of humans and carted away to a strange facility for processing and sale—Castiel was appalled that mankind would descend to such levels. How many millennia ago had he watched humanity form and grow, crafted into his father’s perfect children? How had they sunk so low as to enslave their own over a mere biological difference, a fluke of genetics in any given individual?

He could have fought his way free had the humans in charge been, well, human. Unfortunately, it seemed that the presence of an angel put out a beacon for demonic forces, and there had been three demons among the five law keepers that had taken Castiel. Sigils had been burned into Jimmy’s flesh to keep the angel bound to his vessel, sealing the human’s mind and Castiel’s powers. He was as helpless as any human, with all the strange needs and feelings that came with humanity. He could not even cry for assistance; communication with his brothers and sisters was blocked. Never had Castiel felt so blind, deaf, and dumb as now.

His captor, a high ranking demon named Alastair, prowled around him in a circle, idly tapping a nightstick against his thigh. “Mm, I must say, an angel and an Omega all rolled into one does make a pretty treat,” the demon sneered, reaching out with a clammy hand to brush Castiel’s face. Bound as he was, Castiel could hardly even lean away from the movement. “You might want to do your research next time, angel. Well, you won’t get a next time—maybe the rest of your kind will learn from your mistake.”

“I made no mistake in taking this vessel,” Castiel replied steadily, twitching as far away from the sinful, warped touch as he could. His only mistake was failing to research human norms, surely. “Jimmy Novak is a good man. Tell me, demon, did your kind have a hand in twisting the human race to this extent?”

“What, you mean this whole Omega debacle?” Alastair chuckled. “That’s all on humans, angel. They’re closer to us than you could even imagine.” He leered, halting his steps and running a finger through Castiel’s hair. “I must say, it’s a fine compensation for being forced to leave my racks and chains behind in hell. Oh, it was so nasty when Lilith told me I had to go topside—but here I am, and here you are. Pretty little angel, all trapped and humanized, and just for me.”

Castiel shook his head, glaring at the demon. “Your sigils will not hold forever,” he said firmly, relaxing against the straps. “Mark me, demon. My brethren will come for me, and when they do, they will smite you. You will never see your racks and chains again.”

“Tough words for the little boy strapped to my rack right now.” Alastair leered, brushing a hand over Castiel’s naked chest. “I like you, angel. And I get to keep you—do you know what that means?” He clacked his tongue against stained yellow teeth. “Mm, I get to carve you and break you until your grace shatters. Crumbles away and leaves you begging and weeping like a human whore.” His hand descended across Castiel’s body, uncomfortably present and unavoidable to the angel’s newly human senses. “I could break you in any number of ways, but, mm, I think I’d like to do it the human way. Do you know what humans do to their Omegas?”

Castiel did not. The angels had been too absent from Earth in recent years, busy as they were dealing with the hordes of demons launching attacks on heaven. Many centuries had passed since Castiel had turned his gaze to his father’s favored people; an oversight on his part. Perhaps the angels could have prevented this atrocious inequity from coming to pass otherwise. Alastair seemed to see Castiel’s silence for what it was; he grinned cruelly. “They break them down. Turn them into needy little bitches, begging to be stuffed with cock and knot and toys. Why don’t you take a look through your vessel’s memories, angel? I’ll bet his owner kept him locked in bed at all times.”

That was a falsehood. Castiel had sifted through Jimmy’s memories already; Amelia was a good woman who chafed at the strictures society placed upon her soul’s love. She had proclaimed that if law allowed it she would have married Jimmy; she had granted him freedom in every way possible, had given him equal rights in raising their young daughter. “Humanity is not so broken as you would have me believe,” Castiel replied firmly, his faith unshaken. A few fallen souls may have enacted unjust laws, but the whole of mankind was still good. No demon could twist and wheedle Castiel into seeing anything but the truth.

Alastair smirked. “Maybe,” he said carelessly, “but you’re mine now, and I’ll make you see. I’m going to take such good care of you, angel,” he purred, leaning in close to Castiel, his breath hot and rank, overpowering to unfamiliar human senses. “Keep you stuffed and heated and needy. Humans are unoriginal with their tortures, but there’s a place for sexual torment. It’s a very fitting way to break one of the holy ones.”

He would not be frightened by the demon’s profane words. “Nothing you can do will break me,” he said steadily.

Alastair chuckled. “You’ll eat your words, angel,” he murmured, ghosting his teeth over Castiel’s ear. “And when I’m done with you, there will be no pieces to put back together. No mind, no soul, and certainly no grace.”

0o0o0o0o0

_Stupid!_ He should have gone back for the collar. Sam cursed, writhing in the hands of his captors, stretched out in the backseat across the laps of three Alphas.

“Come on, drive faster!” the one in the middle demanded, seizing Sam’s hips and grinding against his ass. Sam snarled, jerking in the man’s hold. “This is way better than any Beta bitch we could have picked up.”

“Keep it in your pants, Gary!” the driver shouted, laughing. “The bitch doesn’t have a collar! We can keep it!”

_Keep_ him? From the moment the Alphas had grabbed him, Sam had known he wasn’t going to get out of the night unscathed. He expected the impending gang rape, but _keeping_ him? Sure, it was legal—uncollared Omegas were usually picked up by the government and held until their registered owners came for them, but overwrite papers could be submitted if a random citizen happened to grab an Omega with a bare neck. It was rare though—Sam had never heard of it happening to anyone his family or social circle knew. “Let go!” he shouted furiously, driving an elbow into one of the Alphas’ gut.

A solid “oomph!” sounded behind him. “Whoa, this one’s a fighter!” the Alpha choked out. “Little fucker, we could have you killed for that.”

“No fun fucking a corpse,” the Alpha in the passenger’s seat declared. “It’s one of those college bitches. They’re always uppity. Better get this one domesticated quick, huh?”

Domesticated. Like a fucking animal. Sam bit down hard as one of the Alphas covered his mouth, teeth barely nicking the skin. “We can tie it down proper when we get back to the house,” the Alpha said, wrapping a hand around Sam’s throat and squeezing. “Teach the slut its place. You really want to keep it?”

“If none of you guys do, I’ll take it,” the Alpha in the passenger’s seat offered. “Man, I’d like some sweet Omega ass to come home to every night. Especially one like this. It’s pretty, man!”

The thugs parked outside a ramshackle apartment and heaved Sam out of the car. “Grab its legs!” one of them shouted, heaving Sam over his shoulder. “Come on!”

They dragged Sam into the apartment building and up the stairs, throwing him to the ground of a cramped, musty third floor apartment. One of the Alphas sat on his chest and pulled off his shirt while another two set to work on his pants. A fourth Alpha grabbed a thick belt from the arm of the couch and wrapped it around his throat. “Get me something sharp!” he shouted. One of the Alphas tossed him a knife and he cut a hasty hole, buckling the makeshift collar around Sam’s throat and sawing off the end.

Naked and exposed, Sam bucked, dislodging one of the Alphas from his legs. “Get it to the bedroom,” the fifth Alpha called, holding open the door. “There’re belts in the closet.”

Five against one; Sam never stood a chance. The Alphas bent him over the bed horizontally, strapping his ankles to the foot posts and the crude collar to the side of the frame. Ass in the air, head hanging off the mattress, Sam was exposed. Two of the Alphas seized his hands and forced them together behind his back, tying a belt tightly around his wrists, and another one just above his elbows. “Perfect,” one of them said, slapping his ass. “Got something to hold its mouth open?”

“What do I look like, a sex shop?” the Alpha who presumably resided in the apartment groused. “I’ll get one for next time, okay? We can just use its ass tonight.” Hands groped across Sam’s hips and buttocks as the Alphas jockeyed for position, calling out an order.

Sam screamed as the first Alpha breached him, thrusting in deep, far deeper than Sam would have imagined possible. The fingers and toys he used to slake his heats had not prepared him for this; even the Alpha who had forced him in the back of the bar that one night years ago had been comparatively small. He struggled, writhing on the bed. “Yeah, take it!” the Alpha behind him shouted, digging his fingers into Sam’s hips as he thrust hard. “Fuck, I think it’s a virgin. So _tight,_ man!”

The onslaught seemed to continue for hours. Sam ceased his struggles when the third Alpha slid into his loose, distended hole, fucking him quickly and pulling out to ejaculate over Sam’s back. The fourth Alpha came after only a few thrusts, but the last one knotted him, hot flesh swelling, trapping him inside Sam’s bloody, abused passage. “First one to knot this little slut,” the man panted, slapping Sam’s ass. “You don’t know what you’re missing guys. So perfect,” he moaned as another wave of come spurted into Sam’s body.

Sam trembled, his limbs aching from their forced, unnatural position. “Let me go,” he demanded, his voice wavering. _“Please._ You’ve had your fun.”

A round of raucous laughter sounded behind him. “The bitch talks!” one of the Alphas crowed, reaching around to fondle Sam’s limp cock. “What do you think, boys—have we had our fun?”

“We haven’t even tried its mouth yet,” one of the Alphas jeered, tugging Sam’s balls. “I’ll bet it’s almost as nice as its ass.”

“Besides, the little whore didn’t even come!” That elicited another round of laughter. The Alpha behind him pulled his half-deflated knot out, drizzling over Sam’s ass. “What do you think, Brett? Wanna see the slut come?”

“Hell yeah,” one of the Alphas chuckled. “Flip it over. I wanna see it come on its face.”

Sam writhed desperately as the Alphas untied him and flipped him onto his back. They tied his ankles to the posts at the end of the bed and unfastened his hands from behind his back, belting them to the headboard. Spread-eagled and helpless, Sam jerked at the ties, cold fear roiling in his gut. “Please,” he begged, wrenching at his bonds. “Don’t do this!”

“Shut it up,” one of the Alphas commanded. Another man stripped off his shirt and jammed it in Sam’s mouth, silencing his cries.

“Don’t touch its dick,” the owner of the apartment commanded, his dark eyes bright, shining with lust. “I want to see if it’s a good Omega. Good Omegas only come from their holes.”

“We need to get it hard first,” one of the Alphas protested, palming Sam’s cock.

“Jesus fuck, Gary, do you have ears? It’s an Omega. It only needs its ass.” The Alpha stepped forward and grabbed Sam’s ass cheeks, pulling them apart to expose his hole to the open air. “Get it going with a little attention, then find its sweet spot,” the Alpha muttered, rubbing the ring of muscle at Sam’s entrance.

Sam flushed, turning his head in shame as his cock slowly perked up, interested in the stimulus. “See? Just like that.” The Alpha slipped a thick finger into his passage, feeling around until the pad of that long, invasive digit brushed over his prostate. Sam bucked, startled, as halfway pleasurable sensations crashed through his body. Against his will, his cock swelled, blood rushing to the organ. “Little more,” the Alpha grunted, sliding another finger alongside the first. “Wow, its big for an Omega, isn’t it?”

“Bigger than you, Rich,” cackled one of the Alphas.

“Can it, Trey.” The Alpha crooked his finger, sending pleasure shuddering through Sam’s body. He moaned, screwing his eyes shut as humiliated tears streamed down his face.

“Hey, you made the slut cry,” one of the Alphas joked, caressing Sam’s calf.

“That’s not all I’ll make the slut do,” the Alpha invading Sam’s body joked, rubbing insistently. “Man, this bitch’s ass is _dripping._ How’s its cock?”

Chuckles sounded through the room. “Fuckin’ leaking all over the place,” one of the Alphas laughed. “Looks like the bitch likes it.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s a whore.” Sam whimpered, biting down hard on the gag. “Fuck, I could do this all night. Think we’ll have time to fuck it again?”

“Dude, it’s late,” one of the Alphas pointed out. “Just make it come and we can play with it again tomorrow.”

“Truer words, man.” A palm connected hard with Sam’s face; he yelped, his eyes flying open.

“Dude, come on!” protested the Alpha between Sam’s legs. “Bitch isn’t gonna get any harder with you hitting it!”

Several of the Alphas laughed. “A lot of bitches are masochists,” one of them joked. “I’ll bet it likes being hit. Don’t you, whore?”

Sam shook his head, sobbing silently as a third finger joined the other two. “It’s just crying because it wants my cock,” one of the Alphas proclaimed. “Your fingers aren’t enough to give it what it wants.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” the Alpha demanded, jamming his fingers against Sam’s prostate. “See?” he asked smugly as a dollop of precum oozed out of Sam’s slit. “Man, one of my fingers is enough to make it come. It wasn’t even hard after getting fucked by your cock.”

“I’ll make it come on my knot next time.”

Sam screamed through the gag, wrenching at his bonds. “Aw, you scared it!” one of the Alphas laughed. “It wants _my_ knot, not yours.”

_“Fuck you!”_ Sam shrieked, his words muffled through layers of fabric.

“Hey Rich, it wants more. Pass it off—I can do an Omega right.” A second Alpha settled beside the first on the bed, wriggling a finger in beside the first Alpha’s—Rich, Sam supposed—three. He was still loose after taking the fifth Alpha’s knot, and yet the stretch burned, splitting him painfully.

“Is it close?” one of the Alphas demanded eagerly. “It looks close. Come on, Omega, don’t you wanna come?”

Openly sobbing, Sam shook his head, writhing in his bonds. He didn’t want to come; he wanted it to be over. He wanted the Alphas to finish with him and throw him out, so he could make his way back to the school and forget this had ever happened. Contrary to what the Alphas seemed to believe, this was not his first time being so violated, but never had it gone on for so long, never had there been more than one assailant, never had his attackers been so large, never had he feared that he would be unable to go home after the attack.

Arousal and pressure built in his gut, his body seeking release even as he sobbed and writhed on the mattress. “Look, look!” one of the Alphas shouted as the pressure came to a peak; Sam’s cock gave a last, desperate throb; he came with a groan, ejaculate spilling over his stomach, splashing onto his chest and chin. “Damn, that’s hot,” the Alpha groaned, grabbing Sam’s cock as the remnants of seminal fluid drizzled out onto his chest.

“What’d I say about touching its dick?” Rich demanded, glaring at the other Alpha.

“Dude, it already came once from its ass. I wanna make it do it again.” Sam keened as the Alpha dragged his fist over Sam’s hyper-sensitive cock, pumping him to hardness before he could fully come down. Sam groaned, throwing his head back miserably.

“Omegas shouldn’t come from touching their dicks,” Rich argued, languidly pumping his fingers, in and out, in and out.

“Yeah, okay, so I won’t make it come,” the Alpha said with a shrug. “Just wanna get it hard again. Make sure it’s wet and needy in the morning, you know?”

“We should get it a vibrator,” one of the Alphas suggested with a wanton leer. “Keep it warm through the nights.”

“You want to clean up after the bitch?” one of the other Alphas asked, rolling his eyes.

Sam whimpered as the Alphas gazed at him, each face more predatory than the last. “They make stuff for that, you know,” one of them said conversationally. “Plug up its dick, stick a vibrator in its ass, and it’s ready to go whenever you want it.”

“I like the sound of that,” one of the Alphas said, grinning. “It’s pretty when it’s needy.”

Several more strokes had Sam hard and leaking, and the Alpha withdrew his hand from Sam’s cock while the other two pulled their fingers from his ass. A whine built up in Sam’s throat; he bucked, desperately seeking friction. “Damn, that’s awesome,” one of the Alphas whispered, running a finger over Sam’s cock. “Wonder if we can teach it to come on command?”

“Probably,” Rich said, standing. “Where should we put it? I kinda need my bed.”

“Tie it to the table?” one of the Alphas suggested. “It should be sturdy enough.”

“That works.” Hands set to work untying Sam, and the Alphas lifted him, carrying him to the dining room and strapping him spread eagle to a cheap wooden table. “Its dick’s flagging a little,” one of the Alphas commented. “Liven it up some before bed?”

Hands stroked Sam’s cock, bringing his erection to full attention. “That’s enough,” one of the Alphas said when Sam’s cock was fully erect, needy and throbbing, on the verge of a second orgasm. “We can play with it some more tomorrow.”

Sam screamed through his gag as the Alphas left, stumbling off towards the bedroom and couches in the living room. He needed to come; he needed them to let him go. Purpling and angry, his cock begged for attention; slick dribbled from his ass, which ached from the emptiness he felt. Harsh leather bands bit into his skin, refusing to budge no matter how he struggled. Finally, exhausted, he ceased fighting. He was trapped. He had survived vampires and werewolves, witches and demons, rugarus and skinwalkers, and all it had taken was a group of sex crazed humans to take him down and make him helpless.

Dad had been right, he realized as his limbs fell slack against the unrelenting wood of the table. He should never have gone to college. He was stuck, and no one would look for him. No one would find him. In his attempt to seek freedom, he had managed to secure his enslavement, and there was no hope of rescue. Sam sobbed openly, tears streaming down his face.

He just wanted to go home.


	3. The Chosen One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean discovers that Sam has been missing for over a year.
> 
> Sam learns that he is of certain import to the yellow eyed demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely getting information about this verse written up. Not everything is up yet, but information about this universe can be found here: http://ashitanoyuki-on-ao3.tumblr.com/The-Boy-Kings-Vengeance
> 
> With "new fic fever" dying down, this whole bi-weekly update schedule might actually work out! Awesome! Now, go forth, read, and grant me your comments. Please? Comments are my favorite thing in the world. Even when they're just telling me things I'm screwing up.
> 
> Warnings: Angry Dean, rape, humiliation, torture, objectification, minor character death.

“What do you mean, he’s not here?” Dean demanded, glaring at the Alpha woman behind the desk. “Samuel Winchester! He enrolled in classes four years ago!”

“Like I said, sir,” the woman responded coolly, her eyes flicking from the computer screen to Dean, “he hasn’t been in our records for over a year and a half. He disappeared a month into his junior year of college.”

Dean took a deep breath, steadying himself. “How could he just disappear?” he asked furiously, clenching his hands around the edge of the desk.

The woman shrugged. “It happens,” she said calmly, swiveling her chair around to better meet Dean’s eyes. “It’s not common, mind you, but it’s also not unheard of. Collars fall off, students go into town without their school passes, and there’s nothing we can do if they get picked up. I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, but your brother’s gone. He either got picked up by peace keepers and sold off after the required thirty days, or someone found him without his papers and got a legal ownership overwrite.”

Dean shook his head, anger pounding at his temples. “I thought this school was supposed to be a safe place for Omegas,” he snarled. “I thought you guys were big on equality, on keeping your students safe!”

“We are,” the receptionist said, her measured voice infuriatingly emotionless, “but we do not have the authority to break the law. We tried to contact Samuel’s owner when he first went missing, but the number was disconnected.”

Dean cursed, pounding his fist against the desk. The woman sighed, casting him a sympathetic look. “I can direct you to Samuel’s former roommate if you think she can help you look for him, but unless you can buy him off his current owner, there is nothing the school can do.”

“Fine,” Dean snapped. “Do that.”

Several minutes later, he was walking across the quad, intent on speaking with Sam’s old roommate. Several students watched him warily, an Alpha interloper in a space reserved for Omegas. Shiny leather collars adorned the necks of nearly all the students; a few had bands tattooed around their throats, a recently acceptable substitute. Dean shuddered at the all too prominent marks of servitude and inferiority. A part of him wanted to stop and apologize to the girl nearest to him, who hid her face behind a sheet of shiny brown hair. _I’m not like them,_ he wanted to say, not like the rest of the world. He didn’t give a damn if someone was an Alpha, a Beta, or an Omega. He just wanted his brother to be safe.

It took some convincing for a passing student to swipe Dean into their dorm building; the boy watched him with pale, distrustful eyes. Dean thanked him and made his way to the third floor. Room 314. He stopped in front of cheap, peeling paint and knocked.

“It’s open!” a light, feminine voice called. Dean swallowed hard and pushed the door open, loathe to enter without explicit permission. From what he understood, a strange Alpha almost never meant anything good in an Omega’s experience.

The girl’s eyes widened as she looked up at Dean, whose bulk nearly filled the doorway. She gulped, reaching for the collar on her dresser, her fingers fumbling over the buckle as she desperately tried to fasten it behind her throat. “Don’t—” Dean swallowed hard, miserable. The poor girl should be able to take her collar off in her own room. “Don’t bother. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

The girl nodded, but buckled the collar around her neck nonetheless. “What do you want—I mean, can I help you, Alpha?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yeah, um, are you Jessica Moore? Sam Winchester’s old roommate?” Dean shifted awkwardly, leaning against the doorjamb.

The girl’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded an affirmative. “Why do you ask?”

Dean sighed, rolling a wad of paper between his fingers. “I’m his brother,” he said finally. “Dean. I came here to talk to him, and I heard—” he swallowed hard. “Do you know what happened to him?”

Jessica flinched, smoothing her hands over her bed sheets. “You should probably come in and sit down,” she said finally. “Just—away from the door, please.”

Dean nodded and stepped into the room, positioning himself as far away from the door as he could while still maintaining a decent distance from the Omega. It did not escape his notice that Jessica slid to the end of her bed, positioning herself to make a run for it if necessary. Briefly, Dean debated the merits of sitting on his hands, and then decided that would be overkill.

Jessica fiddled with the clasp of her bracelet, her eyes fixed on the floor. “We were at a party,” she said after a moment of silence. “We were celebrating being done with our first paper of the year. None of us liked that class—History of Hierarchy. The school has to require it in order to stay open. It’s basically a bunch of crap lauding the status quo and subordination of Omegas. Even the professor who teaches it hates it.” Her lips quirked in what might have been a smile. “So, we finished the paper, and one of the alumni holds an annual celebration off campus the day the paper is due. It’s a safe house, so our entire class went.”

Dean nodded slowly. The poor girl shouldn’t have to justify going to a party, he thought furiously. Wasn’t that half the college experience? Getting wasted and dancing to bad music and hooking up in shady corners? That was the only part of college that sounded attractive to him, anyways—though he supposed there wouldn’t be much hooking up at an all Omega party. Details.

“Sam’s collar fell off when we were there,” Jessica said softly. “We didn’t realize it until we were about to leave. So we told him to wait, we’d find it and then go, but he wanted to get home. So he—he started walking. A few of us stayed behind to look, and the rest of us went with him.” Jessica’s chin trembled, and a feeling of foreboding swept through the room. Dean shivered, drawing his legs close to his chest. A small part of him wanted to turn tail and flee, to hide away at the nearest bar and drink until he passed out, until his mind quit showing flashes of his baby brother’s face covered in blood.

“A car of Alphas pulled up by us. Making stupid comments, threatening to hurt us, the usual stuff. Then one of them noticed that Sam wasn’t wearing his collar.” A tear slid down Jessica’s face. “We tried to block them long enough for Sam to run, but we—well, we couldn’t fight back, you know. They tackled him, and they dragged him into the car. We got the license plate, but since they didn’t do anything illegal, and no Alphas or Betas saw it anyway, there wasn’t anything we could do.” Angrily, Jessica swiped at her eyes.

The world swam in front of him; Dean realized that tears were threatening to escape his eyes. “Damnit, Sam,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “He always hated that collar. Always. I can’t even blame him, but…” A sob caught in his throat. This was ridiculous. Crying wouldn’t help his brother! “Do you still remember the license plate?” he asked roughly.

“No,” Jessica said softly. “Brady had it written down, but he probably threw it out.”

Dean nodded. “Can you ask him?” he inquired, glancing up. Jessica nodded and pulled out her phone.

“What are you going to do if he does still have the plates?” Jessica asked, her fingers tapping across the screen.

“Me?” He was going to kill the little fuckers—that’s what he would do. “I’m going to track down that car. I’m going to find the bastards that took him and ask them nicely to give him back. If they refuse, I’ll add a little more persuasion.” He grimaced. “I’m getting him back if it kills me.”

Jessica frowned. “There were five of them,” she said pointedly.

“Oh, I’m sure there were,” Dean replied, clenching his fists. “That’s five heads I have to bash in. Nobody hurts my baby brother. Nobody.”

0o0o0o0o0

Sam stared dully at the ceiling, stretched out and strapped to the coffee table. Months of torture and rape had left him a weakened, pathetic mess, sniveling and begging whenever his legal masters commanded it. Now, at least, all he had to do was lie motionless while they set drinks on his stomach and occasionally stubbed out cigarettes on his legs. If he tried hard enough, he could distance himself from the situation, from the five Alphas around him, retreating to a blank, peaceful space in his mind.

“Man, this is bullshit,” Carlton complained, throwing his cards down on Sam’s chest in disgust. “Someone’s stacking the deck!”

“Dude, you dealt this hand,” Gary quipped, reaching for the pot of chips balanced on Sam’s navel and dragging them towards himself. “Not our fault you suck at five-card.”

“Switch to Hold ‘Em. I’ll beat your ass raw,” Carlton snapped, angrily jabbing the lit end of his cigarette into Sam’s side. Startled, Sam twitched away from the burning end, toppling one of the drinks to the ground. “Damnit, that was my drink too!” the Alpha snarled furiously. “Will someone teach this bitch to keep still?”

“Dude, just chill,” Rich said languidly, blowing smoke that was decidedly not from a cigarette into Sam’s face. “Come on. We’ll take it off the table, it can blow you, we’ll all be happy. Sound good?”

The Alphas picked their drinks up, leaving circlets of liquid cold on Sam’s chest and belly. One of them dropped to the ground to unstrap his limbs and shoved Sam to the floor. Without being told, he crawled across the grainy, filthy carpet and positioned himself in-between Carlton’s legs, undoing the Alpha’s zipper and pulling his cock free of its confines.

Sam’s gag reflex had long since been fucked out of him. He took the Alpha’s long, thick cock all the way to the hilt, relaxing his throat and breathing through his nose as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. “Deal out another hand,” Carlton ordered, one hand going to the back of Sam’s head to grip his hair. “I’ll teach you assholes how to play poker.”

The sound of cards shuffling was annoyingly loud in the otherwise silent room, but Sam had learned how to work through distractions. It was the only way to avoid a beating, and sometimes even then it wasn’t enough. He licked and sucked, swallowing around the Alpha’s erection repeatedly until the man’s knot began to swell in his mouth. Sam relaxed his jaw—last time he had let his teeth get in the way, they had pulled out his fingernails—and fell limp, allowing the Alpha to pump his first load of come into Sam’s belly. “Three aces,” Carlton crowed, slapping his cards down on the table.

“Sorry, dude. Full house.”

The Alpha cursed. “Fucking slut distracted me!” he complained, kneeing Sam in the gut. Sam choked, falling forward, his nose pressed into the Alpha’s rank, unwashed pubic hair. “I swear man, it’s not even fun anymore. Stupid whore can’t do anything right.”

“Dude, forget the Omega for five minutes, will you?” Brett demanded.

“Maybe if I weren’t losing all my money, I could,” Carlton groused, jerking Sam’s hair. Sam groaned pitifully as several strands were yanked out by the roots. “Can we do something else now?”

“Don’t say you wanna play with the slut,” Trey complained. “That’s all you ever want to do when you start losing. It’s getting boring.”

“It doesn’t have to be boring,” Rich said loudly. Sam flinched—God, please no. He just wanted them to put him back in his cage so he could sleep. “I got some new stuff with my last paycheck. Could be kind of fun to test it out.”

“Long as it’s hands off,” Trey grumbled. “I’m not in the mood to fuck tonight.”

“It is,” Rich promised. Sam heard the Alpha rise behind him. “Come on. Put something on TV while I get it out.”

The television tuned in to some bad reality program, and Carlton extracted his cock from Sam’s mouth, spurts of cum drizzling on the floor. Sam grimaced, rotating his numb jaw. Whatever was coming wasn’t going to be pleasant, but there was no way he’d make it out the door if he tried to make a break for it. Where would he go, anyways? The Alphas had gotten an official citizen's transfer—legally, they owned him. All the papers and collars in the world would not help him if he ran.

Rich dragged a large fucking machine into the room and settled the device in the corner. “C’mere, slut,” the Alpha ordered mockingly, patting his thigh. Slowly, his heart heavy in his chest, Sam crawled across the floor and climbed up onto the platform. The Alpha settled him on the platform and strapped him into place, his ass in the air, his cock and balls hanging heavily off the end. “Cock ring or no, guys?” Rich asked the other Alphas.

“Ring, unless one of you wants to clean up its mess,” Gary said dismissively.

Sam wanted to scream. It had been so long since he’d been allowed a proper orgasm—hell, even a prostate milking would be welcome now. Anything to relieve the constant pressure in his swollen balls. The Alphas had kept him caged and plugged all through his last heat only a few days previous, and he was full to bursting. There was, however, no recourse to prevent the Alpha from sliding a constrictive ring around his length and filling his slit with a rubber plug. “Got a gag, too, so it won’t make too much noise,” Rich said, slipping a hard plastic cock into Sam’s mouth and strapping it behind his head. Strands of hair tangled in the polyester bonds, and Sam grimaced, shaking his head in a futile attempt to free them.

Rich flipped the machine on and made his way back to the couch. Helpless and prone, Sam twitched feebly in his bonds as the machine whirred to life, pistoning in and out, in and out, rotating and thrusting against his prostate. He trembled as blood rushed to his bound cock, which pulsed angrily. The entire world seemed to narrow, pinpointing at the pressure in his balls as he screamed behind the gag, begging for release.

Caught up in his misery and his desperate, endless arousal, the loud crack that sounded through the room barely registered in Sam’s mind. He glanced up, his eyes heavy, just in time to see a strange man seize Gary by the arm and rip his head from his shoulders.

The scent of sulfur permeated his nose, overpowering the heavy smell of Alpha musk. The newcomer was a demon! Sam jerked forward, scrabbling desperately against his bonds, but it was no good. He was trapped.

The demon tore through Trey and stormed towards Sam, bright yellow eyes flickering with ill-disguised fury. A terrified whimper tore from Sam’s throat as the yellow eyed demon—the specter of his childhood—knelt beside him, running hot, hard fingers through his hair. “Sorry I didn’t get here sooner, Sammy,” the demon crooned, unbuckling the gag from around Sam’s head. With a flick of the demon’s wrist, the cock ring and leather bindings fell from Sam’s body; he shrieked as a long overdue, borderline painful orgasm ripped through him. The demon pulled him from the fucking machine and placed him on his feet, an arm wrapped around his shoulders to steady him. “My precious boy, my favored child,” the demon murmured, running a hand over Sam’s face as though to check for injury.

“What do you want?” Sam croaked, his voice thick and raspy from disuse.

“Vengeance, Sammy,” the demon breathed, staring into Sam’s eyes with his bright, immensely powerful gaze. Sam swallowed hard; those eyes seemed to draw him in, jaundiced pools of power, sulfur and strength incarnate. “For now, vengeance against those who dared to lay a finger on my most precious child.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam whispered.

The demon smiled. “You will,” he said steadily. “Grab one of those—things, any one of them,” he said, and it didn’t sound like an order. It sounded like an invitation.

Unthinkingly, Sam wrapped his hands around Carlton’s biceps, gripping hard, his strength not so diminished that he could not leave bruises when he squeezed. The demon grinned broadly and ripped Sam’s tormentor’s head from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the bloody carpet with a wet squelch. “Perfection,” the demon hissed gleefully. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Brett inching towards the door; he opened his mouth to say something, but the yellow eyed demon cut him off with a wave of the hand.

“Let that one go,” the creature said carelessly. “We’ll hunt him down later. For now…” The demon turned to face Rich, stalking towards the Alpha. “For now, I think this one merits some quality time. He’s the one who called you his slave, yes?”

Sam gulped and nodded. Rich sank to his knees, eyes huge and terrified. “Please,” he babbled, “please, you can have my Omega. You can have anything you want—please, don’t hurt me!”

“Please?” The demon threw his head back and laughed. “Sam,” he said, and Sam straightened unconsciously, looking into those chilling eyes. “Did you ever ask him the same thing? Did you ever ask him to not hurt you?”

“Yes,” Sam whispered before he could stop himself.

“And did he listen?”

Sam shook his head, trembling. The demon smiled, directing his gaze back towards the shrinking Alpha. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, caressing the Alpha’s neck. In the time it took Sam to blink, the demon had the Alpha flat on his back, spread over the coffee table. “You can scream, if you want,” the creature said softly, slicing through the man’s shirt with a single long, sharp fingernail. “You can even beg.” That same fingernail sliced through the man’s stomach, opening him up as cleanly as a knife; Rich wailed, his cry splitting the air. Nauseated, Sam turned his head, closing his eyes. Squelching sounds tore through the air, punctuated by increasingly faint cries. Something warm and wet slapped Sam’s face; he jumped back, his eyes flying open to land on a partial intestine. Sam gulped, attempting to swallow back his nausea, to no end; he turned and retched, emptying the scant contents of his stomach to the ground.

Soft footsteps pattered across the floor, and strong fingers closed on Sam’s chin. He gulped as the demon turned his face towards its own, smiling at him. “Ex—Exorcizamus te—”

The demon laid a finger to Sam’s lips, silencing him. “No need for that,” he murmured soothingly, gathering Sam into his arms and embracing him. Sam’s collar fell to the ground with a loud click, uncovering his throat; a jolt of fear hit Sam, and he staggered backwards, pushing the demon off him.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, his voice embarrassingly high, trembling.

The demon cocked his head. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?” he asked slowly, stroking Sam’s cheek.

Sam swallowed hard. “Kill me,” he said finally.

“Kill you?” Sam had not realized it was possible for a demon to sound so appalled. _“Kill_ you? No. Why would you think that?”

“You’re a demon,” Sam said flatly, backing away until his shoulders hit the wall. “You’re the demon that killed my mother.”

The demon nodded agreeably. “Yes, that,” he said casually. “An unfortunate snag, really. If she’d just stayed out of your room that night, she’d still be alive and well.”

“What—”

“It’s you, Sam,” the demon breathed, stepping forward, trapping Sam in the corner. “You’re chosen—special. None of these imbeciles could see it—your power, your destiny. But we know.” He reached out to cup Sam’s face. “The most precious of all my children.”

Sam shook his head. “No. No, I’m not chosen for anything.”

“But you are, Sam,” the demon murmured. “Come with me. You’ll see.”

Sam shuddered, weighing his options. If he stayed, he’d be repossessed by the government and sold, unless Rich had written him into his will like some chattel object. If he went with the demon—well, he’d be with a _demon._ Sensing his indecision, the creature folded Sam into his arms, holding him close. Sam coughed as the stench of sulfur flooded his nostrils. “No harm will come to you, Sam. I promise.”

_Demons lie._ Sam shook his head, pushing against the demon’s chest. The creature cocked his head, gazing at Sam with an appraising eye. “Don’t you want revenge on those that wronged you? The entire world, that held you down and beat you and called you slave?”

He did want revenge, and yet—

“Come with me,” the demon said, taking Sam’s hand. “Just come, and all will be explained.”

Dad would never forgive such a treachery. Dean would never understand such a treachery. Sam took a deep, shuddering breath, and then nodded, steeling his heart and mind for the inevitable consequences. “Okay,” he said, giving the demon’s hand a short, firm squeeze and then pulling back. “Okay.”


	4. Yellow Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean discovers that Sam has been taken by the yellow eyed demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment whore. I am a comment whore. An early update because I was asked to update soon. This is a thing. Moral of the story: I like feedback. Please give me feedback. Compliments, criticisms, whatever.
> 
> Warning: mentions of rape and past underage.

“May I ask why you’re interested in Richard Anderson’s case?” the perky Beta asked Dean, handing him a thick manila file, bright blue nails grazing the envelope as Dean took it from her manicured hands. “It was almost a year ago. I’m surprised the FBI’s still looking into it.”

Dean smiled politely, his skin itching. “Well, it’s a pretty strange case, Ma’am,” he said, resisting the urge to fidget.

“Strange isn’t the word I’d use,” the woman said, shuddering. “Horrible’s more like it. That poor boy—there was hardly anything left of him by the time our force got the call.”

Dean nodded, forcing his expression into one of sympathy. As far as he was concerned, the only thing horrible about the case was that Anderson had died before Dean could get his hands on him. “So, you said three of the four men with him were killed? What happened to the fourth?” he asked conversationally.

“That poor boy,” the woman said sympathetically. “He was never right after that. He’s in Saint Michael’s Institution right now. Kept insisting their attacker was a demon.”

“A demon?” Dean questioned. Now, that was interesting. “Well, trauma like that, I can see how the kid would think it was something worse than your average burglar. Anderson had an Omega, didn’t he? Any chance the Omega saw something?”

The woman frowned—Dean supposed most FBI agents didn’t ask for the input of society’s most inferior class. “No, actually. The Omega vanished. The force suspects that Anderson’s attacker took it as a memento of sorts. Our officers questioned Brett, but…” She sighed. “That poor boy,” she repeated sadly.

“I see.” That was something—Sam could handle demons. Maybe his brother was alive and well after all. Or maybe he was a demon’s chew toy right now—Dean clamped down on the horrible, treacherous thought. “Well, thank you for your time, Miss. Enjoy your day.” He shook the Beta’s hand and turned, running his hand over the envelope.

In the car, Dean sat down and opened the file, swiftly scanning the contents. Three humans with their heads ripped from their bodies, a fourth tied down and tortured until he bled out, his internal organs removed. The case didn’t necessarily scream demonic activity—it could be the work of a particularly brutal murderer. Still, Dean knew better than to rule out the supernatural, and he wouldn’t complain for the chance to run one of the bastards who had hurt his brother through the ringer. He closed the file and started the car, driving off to Saint Michael’s Institution for the Mentally Ill.

It was remarkable, how easily people folded when presented with a badge. Dean was escorted to a private room to await the arrival of one Brett White. He fidgeted, tapping his foot impatiently. The sooner he could question the bastard, the better.

A pale, gaunt Alpha was escorted to the room, white hospital scrubs hanging from his thin frame, rippling as he sank into a chair. Institutionalization had not suited the man, Dean noted with satisfaction. “Mr. White?” he said, reminding himself to keep calm—no sense in blowing his cover.

The Alpha looked up, his watery eyes startlingly clear. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Good.” Dean offered the man a false smile. “My name is Agent Small, FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the events of May 2nd, 2004.” Sam’s birthday—the fact had not escaped him.

If it was possible, the man’s face paled even further. “You mean when the demon came,” he babbled, staring at Dean with wide eyes. “’M not crazy, man—sir. Agent. It was a demon. You’ve gotta believe me!”

“Okay, let’s say it was a demon,” Dean conceded agreeably. He smirked as the man twitched, rocking in place. “Can you tell me what happened?”

White swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay, so, we were all at Rich’s. Playing with his Omega.” Dean bit back a growl at the mention of his brother. “We were just hanging out, and then it was like, the door blew off the hinges. And this guy came in, and he like—he threw us into the wall with his _mind.”_ White shuddered. “Anyways, Gary tried to rush him, and he just—he ripped off his head.” A whimper escaped the man’s lips. “He ripped off his head, then Trey’s, because he was closest. Then like, he went for the Omega.” White trembled. “We’d have let him have it, I swear. We would’ve! But like, he didn’t give us a chance.”

Dean clenched his teeth. “Go on,” he prodded.

White took a shuddering breath. “He said—he said something, like I don’t even know what. And the Omega, he untied it and it got up and held Carlton still while the demon ripped his head off. I—I ran, after that.  Called the cops. Then they got to the apartment, and Rich—” White broke off with a strangled sob. “He was on the table. They’d pulled all his guts out. They were all over the floor,” the man whimpered. “I don’t get it, man. Why’d anyone want to do that to Rich?”

“Oh, I can think of some reasons,” Dean said, smiling brightly. “See, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, Brett,” he said, leaning forward. “The Omega you bastards took? That’s my brother. Personally, I’m pissed I didn’t get to you useless sacks of scum first. And I’m telling you this because the entire world thinks you’re a few aces short of a full deck, and who’d they believe, a fed or a crazy guy?”

White, blinked, staring at Dean with horrified eyes. “Oh my God,” he moaned, thrusting his chair back. “You’re a demon too. You’re gonna kill me.”

“Nah. I’d like to kill you, but I won’t,” Dean said coldly, offering the man his best shit-eating grin. “So. I’d guess that this demon you’re talking about was after my brother, not you pathetic scumbags. You’re gonna tell me everything you remember about that demon, or you’ll get to leave this nice, homey institution for a stint in a prison cell.” He smirked. “Get some playtime in with your cellmate, be the block bitch—hey, I’d call that fair payback for what you did to Sam. Now. The demon.”

White shook so hard that for a moment Dean thought the man was going to fall from his chair. “He didn’t look like much,” he blurted out finally. “Blonde. Middle aged white guy. But—his eyes, man.”

“Black?” Dean asked, leaning back in his chair.

White shook his head frantically. “No,” he said shakily. “Yellow. Yellow eyes. Like someone colored them with a highlighter or something.”

Dean froze. Yellow eyes—it was impossible. “You lying to me, White?” he demanded. More than twenty years of chasing the yellow eyed demon—Dean had been certain the bastard had been sent back to Hell. There was no way it was still around—there was no way it could have found Sam!

“Never, sir—Agent,” White whimpered, twisting his hands together in agitation. “Real yellow, like, not just the kind you get when you eat too many carrots. More like pus.”

Dean cursed loudly. “Damnit,” he hissed.

“You believe me?” White demanded eagerly. “That it was a demon?”

Dean glared at the man. “Yeah, sure, if it makes you happy,” he snapped. “Shit. This isn’t good.”

“I swear, it wasn’t human.”

“Yeah, and the only reason I’m glad it didn’t kill you with the others is now I know the bastard’s still hanging around,” Dean snarled. “Okay, you sad sack of shit. Thank you for your cooperation and all that bullcrap.” He stood, snatching White’s file up from the table. “We’re done. Go paint a picture, or whatever the hell you do here.” He jammed his hands into his suit pocket and left the room, speeding out to the car.

He knew his father wouldn’t pick up. Dad hadn’t answered the phone in a week; it was why Dean had gone to get Sam in the first place. Still, if his father was alive and had access to his phone, this was the sort of thing that the man would reply to. “Dad?” he demanded when the phone went to voicemail as expected. “Call me back. Sam’s missing. I’ll fill you in on all the details, but—Dad, the demon’s got him. Old yellow eyes. If you’re not dead, call me.” He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the empty passenger seat, then sped off to the motel.

It wasn’t until Dean had reached the motel that he realized he wasn’t sure what to do with his new information. Dad was the expert at tracking demons, not him. Sam could have done something, but his brother would be lucky to be dead. “Damnit,” Dean cursed, stomping into the motel room and wrenching his laptop open with a little more vigor than was strictly necessary. He could start with demonic omens, maybe call Bobby if he got stuck.

Dean had expected to have to search for hours to find the tell-tale signs of demonic activity, but to his unpleasant surprise, it seemed that omens were cropping up everywhere. It was as though someone had wrenched open the gates of hell; somehow, they were dealing with a massive influx of the black-eyed bastards. Or yellow eyed, in the case of the one he cared about. “Shit,” Dean muttered, reaching for his phone. This was definitely cause to call Bobby.

The old man picked up on the third ring. _“Dean! It’s good to hear from you, boy,”_ Bobby greeted him, his raspy voice cheerful, if a bit haggard.

“I wish it was good to be calling you,” Dean said grimly. On the other end of the line, Bobby sighed, his voice crackling.

_“Don’t you ever call just to say hello?”_ the grizzly, grumpy old Beta demanded. _“What’s got you in over your head now?”_

Dean chewed his lip, trying to figure out how to put his problem. “Sam went missing,” he said finally. “Snatched up by a bunch of Alphas. I tracked them down—most of ‘em are dead.”

_“Good riddance to bad rubbish,”_ Bobby muttered agreeably.

“Yeah, you’re telling me. That’s not my problem.” Dean sighed. “I found the one who survived. He said they were attacked by a demon. A yellow eyed demon.”

_“Old yellow eyes?”_ Bobby sounded surprised—that was a first. _“That’s not good.”_

“Damn right it’s not good,” Dean said. “The bastard took Sam.”

Bobby inhaled sharply. _“I see why you called me,”_ the man said after a moment’s pause. _“I hate to tell you, Dean, but I’m not sure how much help I can be on this one. Demons are getting bold all over the place.”_

“Yeah, I noticed.” Dean tapped his foot impatiently. “I went looking for omens, and there’s too many to sort through. Not like I’m against getting rid of all the bastards I can, but I need to get Sammy back first.”

Bobby grunted. _“Well, if you’re looking for old yellow eyes, don’t go for the small stuff,”_ the Beta said finally. _“It ain’t gonna be out there destroying crops and causing minor mayhem. Look for big things. Entire cities losing power, storms that take out whole counties, that sort. Should narrow it down a little bit.”_

“Thanks, Bobby. I owe you one,” Dean said fervently.

Bobby snorted. _“Boy, if I had a dollar for every time you said that, I’d be a rich man,”_ he admonished. _“Now you go get your brother back,”_ he said, his voice gentling. _“And tell Sam when you find him that he’s a damn fool for getting caught off his guard in the first place.”_

“I will.” Dean ended the call and turned back to his computer, staring at the myriad of results. God, he wished Sam was there. His brother would know how to filter out the small stuff and go right for the big fish.

Several hours later, Dean closed the laptop, sleep itching at his eyes. He had a few possible leads, but there were still too many to narrow down. It was a game of roulette—either a lead would bring him to the yellow eyed demon, or he’d hit another big bad.

Dean reached for his phone and called his father one more time. “Dad,” he said when the phone went to voicemail once again. “Dad, seriously. I need you. I’ve got a couple leads, but I can’t do this on my own. I don’t even know where to start. Please, call me back.” He hung up and stumbled over to the bed, not bothering to remove his shoes or belt. His head hit the pillow, and before he could even crawl beneath the itchy motel sheets, sleep overtook him.

0o0o0o0o0

The soft pad of booted feet jolted Dean from his uneasy slumber; no one should be in his room. He cracked his eyes barely open, shifting as though still asleep as he reached for the pistol under his pillow. Swiftly, before the intruder could react, Dean bolted upright and fired a warning shot into the wall beside the stranger’s head. “Who are you?” he shouted furiously, his free hand scrambling for the light.

“Good to see your reflexes are still on point,” John’s familiar voice drawled tonelessly.

Dean stilled, shocked. _“Dad?”_ he breathed, confused. Surely he was dreaming. His father hadn’t so much as returned a phone call in a week—what was the man doing in his motel room? How had he even got in?

Dean flicked on the lamp, dim yellow light flooding the room, illuminating his father’s worn, haggard face. “Got your calls,” John said without preamble. “So, the yellow eyed demon’s in the area?”

Dean blinked sleepily. “Yeah. ‘Least, he was a year ago. I’m still trying to pin his location down,” he said, kicking off the bed sheets. “He’s got Sam, Dad.”

“I know,” John said quietly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I listened to the messages.”

“Oh. Good.” Dean sighed, rubbing his temples.

John perched on the foot of Dean’s bed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Dean, but if yellow eyes got hold of your brother, he’s probably already dead,” the man said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I understand that you want to go after him, and I need you on this hunt, but I need to be sure your head’s in the right place, okay? He’ll probably try to bargain with Sam’s life. I want to make sure you won’t fall for that sort of ruse.”

“I’m not stupid, Dad,” Dean said heavily. Yeah, he knew it was a longshot that Sammy was still alive. It just hurt to think of his brother dying a horrible death at the hands of a demon.

John was quiet for a moment. “I know, son,” he said finally, startling Dean. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that you are.”

Dean paused for a moment, floored, and then shrugged. “Got a plan?” he asked, stretching.

“Not yet,” John replied quietly. “I’m working on narrowing down my leads. I’d like to cross-check them with yours, and we can start with the overlap.”

“Sounds good.”

An awkward silence settled over the room, broken only by the muted sounds of breathing. “What did you find out about Sam before the demon got to him?” John asked finally, his voice heavy with sadness.

Dean shuddered, taking a shaky breath. “Nothing good,” he muttered. “Bunch of Alphas got to him. The demon took him from them.”

John groaned, slumping forward and burying his face in his hands. “Damnit, Sam,” he whispered, shaking his head. Dean had never seen his father look so small. “I should have never let him leave. I was so afraid that something like that would happen.”

Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the display of emotion from his usually stoic father. “It’s not like you could have known.”

“I did, though,” John said, his voice thick with guilt. “It’s happened before. I hoped—”

“Dad?” Dean asked shakily, dread pooling in his guts.

A shiver ran down his father’s back, evident in the way the man’s shoulders twitched. “You should know this, I guess,” John said heavily. “You’re old enough. Sam wasn’t at home when he presented. You can’t really plan for first heats—no one expects their kid to be an Omega. You’d gone off with some girl at the bar, and I was out talking, trying to get information on a haunting in town. I left Sam at the table with his homework, and when I came back…” John took a deep breath. “I found him in the bathroom. He was—well, he was confused. Any twelve year old would be. Confused, hurting, and there wasn’t anything I could do to protect him.” John released a short, humorless bark of laughter. “Some father I am. The cops got called, because he’d fought back, and well—he’d presented. As soon as that happened, it was against the law for him to try and fight the bastard off. Only reason we were able to take him home is because the Alpha didn’t press charges. The only thing I could do was get him some morning after pills under the table and try to teach him to defend himself without bringing down the cops.”

Dean inhaled sharply, struggling to bring air into his deflated lungs. “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded breathlessly. He couldn’t see how this information—this sick, horrible trove of knowledge—would help them find yellow eyes, or save Sam if he was still alive.

“On the off chance that Sam’s alive, he—he’s not going to be the same,” John said quietly, sadly. “He wasn’t the same after the night at the bar, and if he went straight from some messed up Alphas to a demon, we’ll be lucky if he’s still sane at all. If he’s dead, the demon might try to taunt you by telling you things you never wanted to hear about your brother. You haven’t had a normal life, Dean. That’s my fault, so it’s my fault you don’t know this. Hunters don’t give a damn what sex you are, as long as you can kill the monsters. You don’t know how people outside the life treat Omegas, and you need to know, so you can be prepared for any vile thing the demon says about your brother.”

“I have ears, Dad,” Dean said gruffly, staring fixedly at the wall. “I know what people say.”

“But you never lived it from any side. I’m damn glad for that, but your brother’s not so lucky.” John shook his head. “Demons are manipulative bastards. If it thinks it can hurt you by telling you things that happened to Sam, it will. You can’t let it get to you.”

That wasn’t going to happen. It was already getting to him, the itch of failure thrumming under his skin. “I won’t let that happen, sir,” Dean lied, clenching his fists.

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” John snapped, but there was no force behind his words. “Just… Keep your head. Now.” He glanced at Dean. “Go back to bed. I’m going to cross-reference with your notes, and we’ll head out in the morning. You game?”

“Yes sir.” Dean allowed himself to sink back into the mattress, pulling the scratchy, worn sheets up over his body.

He woke a few hours later to his father hunched over a stack of papers, a half-drunk bottle of Jack Daniels beside him. “Ready to go?” John asked without preamble, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Yeah, let me get dressed.” Dean grabbed his jeans from beside the bed, pulling them on over his boxer shorts; a flannel over shirt went on over his night shirt. “Ready, sir.”

John grunted and rose, gathering up the papers. “We’ll start with Provo,” he said curtly. “Grab some breakfast if you want. We’ll meet at the Days Inn.”

“Yes sir.”

The drive felt much too long, too silent even as his music blared in the car. Dean stopped twice, once for gas and breakfast, a second time to stretch his legs and hit the head. The sun was not quite setting when he at last reached the hotel, and if anything, the extended car ride left him anxious, awake and jittery and eager to get to work nailing the demon in town.

John had already checked in, under the name Herman Doyle. Dean presented his ID—Blake Browning, one of the few aliases his father approved of—and made his way to the room. “Picked up some hot pockets,” John said by way of greeting. “Eat something and rest up. We’ll nail the bastard tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?” Dean asked, tossing one of the cheap, easy meals in the microwave.

“Because I’m wiped and you’re too eager,” John replied, his tone broking no argument. “No good going in hot. You need to calm down.”

Dean hated it when his father was right. “Fine. Five hours,” he agreed.

“Seven,” John said, almost absently. “Seven to sleep, three to go over out plan.”

“Six to sleep, two to plan.”

“Don’t argue with me, boy,” John replied snappishly. “Six to sleep, three to plan. That gets us going a bit after four. It’s not up for discussion,” he warned when Dean opened his mouth to argue.

“Fine.” The microwave beeped, and Dean grabbed his hot pocket, only half cooked. He ate it anyway, chewing without tasting the meal. “How’re we gonna kill it?”

“Sleep first, plan later.”

Dean scowled and jammed another bite into his mouth. There was no use complaining. John wouldn’t tell him until he was good and ready.

There was no way Dean was going to sleep, not when anticipation still coursed through his veins, but he finished his meal and crawled into bed, closing his eyes and listening to his father shuffling around the room. Of course John would order rest and not take any himself, Dean thought bitterly. This was insane. They shouldn’t be lying around in a motel room. There was a demon to get rid of—why waste time?

Still, as the minutes ticked by, simply laying still on the bed was enough to lull Dean to relaxation. His eyes twitched, slowly drooping, and finally he slid into a light, restless sleep.


	5. The Hallway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Placeholder blurb due to dead hard drive: Sam reflects on his decision to leave with Azazel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's hard drive died?! I don't have a computer anymore. I am literally typing this at 3 am in my school's computer lab, and IT doesn't open until Monday. Bleh. I don't know if my files are going to be salvageable or if I'm going to have to write the next 15,000 words from scratch. Needless to say, I'm pretty bummed. This is more of a place-holder blurb than a chapter, which I don't feel TOO bad about since I updated on Friday, but it's something. With luck my files will be intact, and the next chapter will go up shortly; if I have to re-write everything, it might take a bit more time. Consider Thursday's update up-in-the-air for the time being; I'm really sorry about that.

Months had passed since he had worn clothes; Sam's skin itched, jeans and T-shirt chafing his tender skin. There was no sense complaining—there was no sense in speaking at all. The horrifying thrill of watching his tormentors torn to shreds had faded, leaving Sam hollow and empty. For all intents and purposes, this was a hostage situation. From sadistic humans to demons, the only difference was the magnitude of suffering they could inflict upon him. Sam was beginning to feel that he had made the wrong choice.

The yellow eyed demon—Azazel, the thing had called himself—led him down a long hallway, an industrial building in an old, decaying part of town. Scattered faces turned to stare as Azazel marched him through the complex, black eyes gleaming in their faces. Sam shivered; he did not want to know what sorts of thoughts, what demented imaginings lurked behind those black eyes.

Azazel held out an arm to halt Sam before a large, rusty steel door. "Before we go inside, I need to ask a few things," the demon said, soft voice almost compassionate. Sam swallowed hard; in a way, it would be easier if the demon seemed menacing. "What do you think about the world?"

Wasn't that an awfully broad question? Sam gulped and forced himself to meet the demon's eyes. Rich and his cronies would have beaten the living shit out of him for standing so tall—hell, most of the world probably would—but there was no one here to make a fuss. He had the exorcism memorized, he reminded himself. He had the power here. "What about the world?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back, intertwining his fingers nervously.

"All of it," Azazel said calmly.

Sam shook his head. "It is what it is," he said finally. "It could be better. It could be worse. Why are you asking me this?"

The ghost of a smile graced Azazel's lips. "Would you like to change the world, Sam?" he asked softly, eyes sharp and discerning, even as the yellow film slid away, leaving only the deceptively human eyes of the creature's meat suit.

Sam hesitated. "I was studying law. Take a guess," he said finally.

The demon shook his head. "I know how your world works, Sam. No matter how good you are, no matter how smart, you'd never make a difference studying law. That little issue of your chromosomes prevents that. But see, demons—we don't care. Ally with humans, you'll waste away in a middling life. You're special—maybe you'll bag a ghost or two. Maybe you won't be a slave. But you'll never be great, never make a difference. Doesn't that burn?" The demon cocked his head, unwavering.

It did rankle, Sam had to admit, but it was nothing he didn't know already. "It's as good as I'll ever get," he said finally.

The demon sighed. "It doesn't have to be that way, Sam," he said. "Forget everything you think you know about demons for a moment and think about _humans._ If someone offered you a chance to take vengeance and change the world for the better to boot, would you take it?"

Sam frowned. "That's an obvious answer," he said after a short pause.

"And if the deal was offered by a demon?"

Sam hesitated, thinking hard. "I wouldn't trust the demon who offered me that."

Azazel chuckled, patting Sam's shoulder. Strange, how the action did not feel condescending. Strange, how it felt like a gesture of camaraderie. "You will, Sammy," he said. Sam should mind the demon's use of his nickname. Why didn't he mind? "You will, in time."

 


	6. The Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and John may not have found the yellow eyed demon, but at least they've encountered someone who claims he can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 500,000,000 years of thanks and praise to my friend R the Wolfman for his willingness to be my IT guy when both my school's IT program and Dell's tech support failed to come through. Yes indeed--I have all my old files. Including all my pre-written chapters! So, apologies for it being a day late--I might update twice before Sunday--but here is the next chapter!
> 
> Warnings: unwanted but luckily minor dream-incest, unwanted touching--nothing graphic this chapter.

_It started off innocuous—he was making out with some scantily clad Beta chick, her soft body pressed to his chest, but when he slipped a hand behind her head to pull her closer, his fingers brushed over thick leather and rusty metal. A collar. Dream-Dean did not have to open his eyes to feel the body against him morph; he staggered back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand._

_“How do you want me?” Where the Beta had stood, Sammy now gazed at Dean, his eyes huge, wounded in his face—a child’s face. This wasn’t the Sam they had sent off to school, this was his baby brother, barely into his teenage years, touched with a heavy worldliness that should never get its hold on a child._

_“Sammy,” Dean said, his voice thick and muffled, barely comprehensible in his own ears. “Sammy, you’re here? You gotta come home.”_

_“How do you want me?” Teenaged Sam ran a finger over his collar; his terrified eyes and shaking hands destroyed any allure that the action would have had, even had the boy before him not been Dean’s brother. “How do you want me?” he repeated._

_“Home,” Dean said, or tried to. He felt like he was choking._

_“On my knees? On my back? They all wanted me on my back.” Dean tried to speak, but no words came out. Suddenly, Sam reached out and shoved him, morphing and aging in the dream, taller and broader than Dean had ever seen his brother. “How do you want me, Dean?” he shouted, his eyes flicking black like a demon’s. “Huh? Want me sold off like a little bitch? Want me taken by demons and ripped to shreds?”_

_“No!” Dean protested, struggling to reach for his brother. For a moment, Sam’s eyes seemed to return to normal, and then he stopped, standing rigid, a yellow film spreading across his face, condensing around his irises and pupils, that same pus-like hue their father had always described when speaking of the yellow eyed demon._

_“Yeah,” Sam breathed, “you did.” Dean couldn’t quite feel the hands that gripped his jaw, but Sam tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Dean’s. Dean choked, shoving at his brother, nausea roiling in his gut. “What’s the matter, Dean?” Sam asked, cocking his head. “You don’t like me? You don’t like your Omega brother like that?”_

_Dean shuddered, his limbs frozen in place. “Sammy, no—that’s wrong,” he protested, his skin crawling._

_“Is it?” Sammy breathed, yellow eyes dancing with dark delight. “Is it really? I’m just a slave—I’m not really your brother. Is it so wrong?”_

_Dean struggled to open his mouth, which seemed locked closed, silencing him. “Little bitch boy to humans, little bitch boy to demons. What’s the difference, Dean, huh? Dean?”_

“Dean!”

Dean woke with a yell, a film of sweat covering his limbs. “Good, you’re awake,” John said, brusque and businesslike, completely unaware of the disturbing dreams from which he had wrested his son. “Come on. We need to go over the plan.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath and stilling his trembles. “Good,” he said after a short pause, swinging his legs over the mattress. “What’ve we got?”

John slouched to the rickety motel table, snatching up a few scattered papers. “The omens have been cropping up throughout the city, but I’ve narrowed down a place of origin. A house out in the suburbs. My guess is that the demon’s been staying in town and keeping a low profile to really sink his claws in.”

Dean nodded. “Any signs that it’s yellow eyes?” he asked.

John sagged slightly and shook his head. “It’s definitely not a run-of-the-mill demon, but none of yellow eyes’ particular hallmarks have cropped up in any search.”

Damn. Dean tried to not let disappointment show on his face. “Okay,” he said, slouching down in his chair. “So, we go to the house—what then?”

John’s lips quirked. “If it’s not yellow eyes, we exorcize the bastard and move on,” he said. “If it is yellow eyes, we’ll kill it.”

Dean frowned, his leg jiggling with nerves. “How are we gonna kill it?” he asked. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t tried to kill demons in the past, but no amount of salt and holy water had ever done more than leave the monsters writhing in pain until they had given up and performed the exorcism.

John smiled tiredly. “You’ve heard of Samuel Colt,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Some old gun maker more than a hundred years ago, right?” Dean asked, leaning against the table.

“That’s the one,” John reached for his belt, pulling a gun from the holster and laying it down on the table. “He made a gun before he died. Six bullets, and there are four left. Lore has it that one shot from the colt will kill anything—even a demon.”

Dean sucked in a breath, staring at the seemingly ordinary gun on the table before him. “This gun?” he demanded breathlessly. “This gun can gank that bastard?”

“Yep.” John slid the gun back into its holster. “Found it in possession of a couple of vamps. That’s why I didn’t return your calls—had to fight my way through them.”

“Wow.” Dean swallowed hard. “So, we can actually kill the demon?”

“Yep.” John nodded, running a finger over the gun’s holster. “Four bullets. We’re going to make them count.”

0o0o0o0o0

Alastair ran a cold, clammy hand over Castiel’s back, coming to rest on his upturned ass. “You know what’s happening, don’t you angel?” he crooned as another hot shiver of need shuddered through Castiel’s body. “That’s your vessel going into heat. A few hours, and you’re not going to be able to think of anything but cock. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?”

Castiel whined, his aching cock pulsing angrily against the tight metal ring that surrounded it. “Steady, angel,” Alastair murmured, reaching between Castiel’s legs and giving his dick a short, hard pull. Castiel yelped as sensation crashed through him, bucking back into the demon’s hold. “Good boy,” Alastair breathed, stroking Castiel with a loose, languid hand. “Gotta give your daddy props—he knew what he was doing when he made these meat slabs. There’s not much better than watching you squeak.”

Castiel cried out as Alastair delivered a sharp, stinging slap to his swollen balls. “Mm, forgive my blasphemy, but _Dear God_ that’s hot!” Castiel flinched, appalled by the sound of a demon invoking his father. “Oh, come now angel, all the sins you’ve committed and a couple words gets your panties in a bunch?” the demon chuckled, fondling Castiel’s hard cock. A dollop of slick oozed out around the sides of the large plug stuffed into Castiel’s body; the angel whimpered, jerking in his bonds.

A low creak, hardly audible to his human senses, sounded from downstairs. Alastair froze, cocking his head. “Oh dear,” the demon said with a sigh, patting Castiel’s rump. “That puts a snag in the plan.” With a final smack, the demon vanished, disappearing as swiftly as any angel.

It wouldn’t be the last time Alastair left him hanging, Castiel was sure. It was not that he wanted the demon to come back; the foul creature’s presence left him nauseous and angry. It was simply that alone and tied down, he had no way to sate the increasingly intense waves of need and desire that flooded his body, leaving him heated and wanting.

Two sets of soft, careful footsteps plodded up the stairs, loud and jarring in their strangeness. “Help!” Castiel shouted, his voice muffled by a hard gag. Human robbers and interlopers he could handle easily, and Alastair surely would not run from another demon.

“Did you hear that?” a voice outside the door asked.

“Don’t get distracted,” came a hushed reply. “We’re here for the demon.”

“Yeah, I know, but—hold on a second, Dad.”

The door swung open, revealing a tall, well-built man, a human Alpha by the smell of him. Castiel would guess that the human was in his late twenties, an adult by human standards, for all his youth.

“Shit,” the human breathed, crossing the room in a few short strides. Warm, calloused hands tangled in Castiel’s hair as the man released the straps that held the thick gag in Castiel’s mouth.

“Dean, come on,” the second man urged, poking his head into the room. “We don’t have time—”

“If you’re looking for the demon, he’s gone,” Castiel said, his voice coarse and ragged after months of enforced silence.

The younger man’s hands stilled on Castiel’s shoulders. “You know it’s—”

“Yes, I know it’s a demon,” Castiel replied roughly, cutting the man off. “Let me up. I can track him down.”

The young human fumbled with the straps that kept Castiel secured to the hard metal breeding stand. Castiel sighed as he stood, rolling his shoulders in a sad effort to ease their tension. With trembling hands, he removed the ring from around his cock and pulled the plug from his ass, grimacing as slick dribbled down his leg. His vessel’s body thrummed in displeasure at the loss, but there was little time to worry about biological functions such as arousal and heat. Castiel glanced down at the sigil on his ribs—all these months, and the mark had hardly faded. “I need something sharp.”

Wordlessly, the young human reached into his jacket pocket and pulled forth a sharp knife. Castiel took the instrument, examining it carefully. It would do. Castiel grimaced and pressed the knife to the sigil, slicing the skin lengthwise. A line of blood trickled from the wound, but there was no bright flare, no separation between grace and soul. He would have to remove the skin, Castiel realized, and perhaps the meat beneath it. He would be able to heal the wound if he survived the process, but that was a risky gamble.

“What are you doing?” the young human demanded sharply as Castiel pressed the knife to his skin again.

“So long as this sigil remains in place, I am bound to human existence,” Castiel explained, digging the blade through his flesh. Sharp pain bit through his side as a strip of skin came off on the knife, slapping wetly to the ground.

“You a demon?” the older of the two humans asked, running a hand along the barrel of a simple gun.

Castiel shook his head and sliced through the other half of the sigil. He gasped, his insides burning, as his grace slowly, steadily unwound from Jimmy’s soul, freeing his powers for the first time in months. Pressure built and exploded; Castiel cried out as his essence shot forth, pressing against the walls of Jimmy’s corporeal existence, burning and writhing and seeking release. The world brightened as his senses flashed to their full capacity; human meat faded to the background of his perception, revealing the two impossibly bright souls before him. “You’re the Winchesters,” he realized—there was no mistaking the vitality and purity of those souls.

“Who’s asking?” the younger one—Dean, Dean Winchester—demanded, his reaching instinctively for his gun.

“There is no need to ask. I know.” Castiel gazed at the two men, a smile spreading across his face. The Winchesters—there was hope.

“Yeah?” Dean’s hand tightened on his gun. “Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel,” he replied, cocking his head as he drank in the brightness, the returned clarity that revealed the nature of these two humans to him. “I am an angel of the Lord.”

 

0o0o0o0o0

“An angel?” Dean snorted, staring at the man—no, this was no human, it was a creature—before him, barely resisting the urge to draw his gun and shoot it where it stood. “Yeah, right. There’s no such thing.”

The creature—Castiel—frowned, tilting his head. “Yes, there is,” he replied slowly. “You did not know?”

“Dad?” Dean threw a glance at his father—surely John had some idea what they were dealing with. John’s hand was clenched around the colt, white knuckled and shaking. Swallowing hard, Dean turned his attention back to the creature before him. “What are you, really?”

The creature stared at Dean for a moment. “So little faith,” he mused. “I never knew.”

“Okay, enough.” John took a step forward and leveled the colt at the creature. “You’re caught up in this demon business, and that’s enough for me. That demon, the one you say isn’t here—yellow eyes?”

Castiel turned his face towards John, his brow furrowing slightly. “You seek Azazel,” he said after a moment’s pause. “You will not find him here. The demon Alastair has this town.”

“Right. So this place is a no go,” John said roughly. “Come on, Dean.”

“If you’re looking for Azazel, I can take you to him,” Castiel said. Dean froze, his heart pounding.

“Yeah?” he asked, forcing himself to meet the creature’s fathomless gaze. “What’s in it for you?”

Dean would not have thought the creature could tilt his head any farther; it seemed he was wrong. “Demons are the scourge of all that is holy and good,” he said slowly. “Why would I not assist you in such purification?”

“I don’t know—maybe because you’re probably a demon yourself?”

The creature gathered itself up, puffing out its chest. The dim lights in the room flickered, crackling, and shadows flashed behind the creature, momentarily manifesting in the shape of feathered wings. “I am no demon,” the creature said, powerful voice rolling through the room, echoing distantly in Dean’s ears. “But you speak in ignorance. I will allow such a grave insult to slide.”

Dean gulped, taking an instinctive step back. The creature sagged, and the lights returned to normal. “My time in captivity has left me weaker than I would have thought,” he muttered, leaning against the hard, heavy stand. “This is not ideal.”

“Yeah?” Dean clenched his hand around his gun.

“Yes.” Castiel grimaced. “I was unprepared for the toll physical stress could take upon a human body. Had my grace not been bound, I would not have taken on such damage.” The creature reached out, gripping the stand with a trembling hand. “I will assist you once I have rested.”

John shook his head. “Dean, we don’t have time to wait around. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Dean said, something in his chest clenching as he stared at the creature. “We can’t just leave him, Dad.”

“Yes, we can,” John replied gruffly. “Come on, Dean.”

“Hold on a minute!” Dean shrugged off his over shirt, wrapping it around the creature’s naked shoulders. His nose twitched, heated Omega pheromones flooding his senses. It was infinitely different from Sam’s scent; startled, Dean stepped back, his jeans tightening. That was—unexpected. He took a moment to collect himself from the safer distance. “You really know how you find the yellow eyed demon?”

“His name is Azazel, and yes.” Castiel pulled his arms through the sleeves of Dean’s shirt, which hung slightly below his buttocks. “It will take me some time to regain my strength, but as soon as I am better, I will take you to him.”

John tapped Dean on the shoulder. “I need to talk to you. In the hall,” he ordered sharply.

Dean cast a look at Castiel and followed his father out of the room, closing the door. “Dad, there’s nothing to lose here,” he said before his father could open his mouth.

“You’re not thinking straight,” John replied gruffly. “That thing’s throwing out the sort of pheromones that will send your head spinning. You can’t trust it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not the pheromones, Dad,” he declared snappishly. “Think about it. Best case, he takes us to old yellow eyes. Worst case, we’ve got the colt.”

“We can’t rely on the colt, Dean,” John snapped. “We need all the bullets in case something goes wrong with the yellow eyed demon.”

“Dad.” It wasn’t that Dean trusted the creature—anything brazen enough to call itself an angel and expect Dean to buy that load of garbage clearly had ulterior motives—but for some reason, the idea of leaving him in the hands of a demon just seemed wrong. “Please.”

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. “One wrong move—he leads us astray one time—and we put him down,” he warned, holstering his gun.

“Yes sir.” Dean pulled open the door and beckoned Castiel forward. The creature took a few tired steps before collapsing to his knees, sweat rolling down his face. Dean grimaced and walked into the room, slipping an arm around Castiel’s waist and helping him to his feet. His Alpha instincts fought against his rational mind—there was an Omega in heat _right there,_ he needed to fuck and claim and dominate—but if Dean prided himself on anything, it was mastery of his body. There was a time and place for sex, and damn was that time and place a good one, but it wasn’t here, it wasn’t now, it wasn’t with an inhuman creature. “Come on,” he said, helping Castiel out the door. “You can rest up in the car. No funny business.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Slick dribbled down Castiel’s thighs, glistening sinfully as he stumbled alongside Dean. Shuddering, Dean helped the man into the backseat of the car—the seats would have to be cleaned, he realized with a wince—and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t suppose you can give us a starting point on old yellow eyes?” Dean asked, twisting the key in the ignition.

Castiel was silent for a moment, his head cocked as though listening to something Dean could not hear. “The angels speak of chaos and misery in Port Royal. South Carolina, if I am correct,” he said finally.

“Good,” Dean said, pulling out his phone and firing off a quick text to his father. John wouldn’t be far behind, he reasoned, pulling out of the driveway. It would be a few days, but the open road was something he understood. He drove, relaxing to familiar music and the sweet feel of pavement beneath his wheels.


	7. The Boy King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam trains with Azazel and revels in new friendship with demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I'm still in excitement mode over getting my files back. Anyways! This is a chapter that I truly enjoyed writing, because I am a sick, twisted person.
> 
> Warnings: Reference to cannibalism, the eating of humans, murder, reference to infanticide/baby eating.

“Concentrate, Sam,” Azazel ordered, prowling in a circle around the young man as he focused on the heavy door in front of him. “You’re letting your mind wander. Push and pull—you’ll get it.”

Sam gritted his teeth, straining to grasp the smooth iron handle with his mind. He could feel its smooth, cold solidity at the corners of his consciousness, so close, so slippery. “I can feel it,” he said through gritted teeth, “but I can’t grab it. Can I get closer?”

“No,” Azazel replied coolly. “You need to work on distance, Sam. You can’t rely on your enemies getting close enough for proper contact. If you can’t open a door, how can you take down a raging angel, or a human with a shotgun?”

He hated it when his mentor was right. Frustrated, Sam turned his full attention back to the door, reaching desperately for the handle. Solid oak groaned and hinges squeaked, but the door moved only a quarter inch before slamming shut again.

“Here,” Azazel said, coming up behind Sam and offering him a knife. “Take just a little more,” he offered, extending his arm.

Sam took the knife and drew a quick, shallow cut across the demon’s wrist. Tangy and metallic, the scent of blood rose through the air, intoxicating. Shuddering, Sam pressed his lips to the cut and drank, a warm tingle flooding his body as he swallowed that rich, thick liquid.

“Good,” Azazel said when Sam drew back, wiping his face with his forearm. “Again.”

Sam nodded and reached for the door with his mind. A long, splintering crack ran down the body of the door; with a long, loud squeal, the obstruction flew open, revealing three trapped, bound humans—two Alphas and a Beta, by the smell of them. Sam frowned, glancing up at his mentor.

“Family members of the ones who took you,” Azazel said by way of explanation. “Dispose of them.”

One of the girls couldn’t be more than thirteen years old; she turned wide, frightened eyes at Sam, dark brown pools pleading in her wide face. A muscle jumped in Sam’s throat; so young, and already so twisted. It was just as he had been, but infinitely worse—molded into the shape of tormentor rather than tormented.

Sam smirked, holding the girl’s eyes, and twisted his wrist. The girl’s head jerked around with a loud snap as her neck cracked and gave, killing her instantly. The Beta woman—the girl’s mother by the looks of her—screamed through her gag, fighting desperately to get to her daughter’s body. Fighting her bonds, just as Sam had. He seized her throat from a distance, contracting his mental grip until her esophagus collapsed under the pressure. He turned his eyes to the remaining Alpha, who wept openly, thick tears streaming down his face. _No mercy,_ Sam reminded himself, glaring at the man. There had been none for him, so there would be none for anyone else.

He shoved, energy rippling through the air, cleaving straight through the man’s skull. Stunned, the Alpha slumped forward, his head cracking against the ground. It wasn’t enough; Sam raised the man’s head and slammed it down with greater force, splintering his skull. Panting, Sam turned to face Azazel, sweat rolling down his face.

“Good job, Sam,” Azazel murmured, running a tender hand through Sam’s increasingly long brown hair. Sam leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he smiled. Azazel caressed his hair for a long moment and drew back. “You’re nearly ready. One show of true power and Hell’s armies will follow you without a second thought.”

“Show of true power?” Sam asked, cracking his eyes open.

“Yes,” Azazel said, smiling. “You’ve come so far already. Telekinesis and exorcism will only get you a margin of respect, though. You need to show that you are ruthless and capable before the more reticent demons will follow you without question.”

Sam nodded, tilting his head curiously. Azazel patted his shoulder. “You must be able to kill demons,” he said fondly. “You have the power, but you have yet to shape it so. Armies thrive on discipline. Once you can mete out that discipline, none will dare to stand against you.”

It made sense. “You’ll teach me?” Sam asked, clasping Azazel’s forearm in a stand of camaraderie.

“Of course, my precious one,” Azazel answered, pressing his lips to Sam’s forehead. The touch of the demon had long since ceased to make Sam’s skin crawl; he leaned eagerly into the sign of affection, reveling in the closeness. Not since Dean had anyone touched him without harmful intent, and his family had only ever laid hands on him with purpose—to stitch up a wound, perhaps to congratulate him. Ruby, Meg, and Azazel granted touches to show their affection, to remind Sam that he was needed and important, not only as a general, but as a symbol and a person in his own right.

Ruby poked her head into the room and grinned at Sam. “Come on, Sammy,” she called, waving him over. “We’re getting dinner.”

“Let me guess, another cheap diner with greasy fries?” Sam asked, pulling away from Azazel and walking over to her. He would never admit it, but he delighted in their excursions to diners and restaurants, walking in with his throat bare and his pockets free of papers, snapping the necks of anyone who would dare question his right to walk free.

Ruby wrinkled her nose. “I drew the short straw,” she complained. “Meg’s pick. She wants Mexican. Something about humans tasting better dipped in salsa.”

Sam laughed. “She probably has a point,” he said easily, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Don’t fries get old after a while?”

“Doesn’t salad get old after a while?” Ruby shot back. Sam snorted and followed her down the long, winding hall of their stolen complex. “Hear you’re almost ready for the big time,” she said, grinning at him.

“Yeah, Azazel says I just have to learn how to kill demons,” Sam replied cheerfully. “Want to be my test subject?”

“You’re awful,” Ruby snarked, shoving him.

They met with Meg at the door and made their way to a sleek, shiny Bently, driven by one of Azazel’s many black eyed underlings. “Nearest Mexican restaurant that doesn’t have crap salsa,” Meg demanded as she closed the car door behind her.

The driver nodded and drove off, winding through city streets before coming to a halt outside a small restaurant in the back corner of a strip mall. “Thanks,” Meg said sweetly as they exited the car. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Save me a baby if there are any inside,” the driver chuckled before pulling away.

Sam pushed down his unease at the driver’s request. There was no reason that eating a baby would be worse than devouring a fully grown human, he reminded himself. Either the child would grow up to be an Omega, oppressed and enslaved and tortured for its entire short life, or it would be an Alpha or a Beta, sick participants in an oppressive system. Death was a kindness.

The door’s bell tinkled as they stepped inside. A bright, chipper looking hostess looked up, opening her mouth to greet them—but then she caught notice of Sam. Her eyes hardened and her mouth thinned to a firm line. “Ladies, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to ask that you collar your Omega before I seat you,” she said politely, glancing at Meg and Ruby, entrenched in their respective Alpha and Beta meat suits.

Ruby and Meg both glanced at Sam, who leaned forward, resting his elbow on the hostess’s stand. “Sorry, care to repeat that?” he asked dangerously, offering the woman a bright smile.

The Alpha hostess ignored him, meeting Meg’s eyes. Humans always tended to assume that the seeming Alpha was his owner; Sam chuckled. He’d let this one live long enough to experience the shock of realizing that Meg answered to him, not the other way around. “Ma’am, please. If you don’t collar the Omega, I’ll have to call the police.”

Meg smirked and glanced up at Sam. “Wow, Sammy, they think I own you!” she drawled, her eyes dancing. “That makes what, twenty three times this has happened?”

“Twenty two,” Ruby corrected her. “That guy at the Chinese place thought I was his owner, not you.”

The three of them shared a laugh. Sam shook his head and threw the hostess a dirty look. “Do I need to ask your permission, Meg?” he asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. “Or can I just gut the bitch?”

“Aw, it makes my lady parts quiver when you ask so pretty,” Meg responded with a smirk of her own.

The hostess barely had time to open her mouth before Sam directed the full force of his powers at the woman, throwing her back against the wall and pinning her in place by her throat. He smiled, clasping his hands in front of him as the woman struggled and gasped for breath. “Table for three, please, and none of those bullshit kneeling pads. Unless you think we should make Ruby kneel, Meg,” he added sardonically.

“Hey!” Ruby protested, spreading her hands with mock displeasure. Throughout the restaurant, patrons turned to stare, wide eyed and shocked. “Not cool! Meg’s the one who likes being on her knees!”

“It’s true,” Meg replied agreeably. “But only for you and Sammy. Three chairs, and extra salsa with the chips,” the demon ordered, smiling at the choked, wheezing Alpha. “Ooh, and make sure you send one of the busboys out with it. I like the taste of serving boy.”

Sam released his hold on the Alpha, who sank to the floor, sucking in breath. With a shaking hand, the woman reached for her phone; Sam mentally halted her motions, wrapping her wrist with crackling, shifting power. “Don’t,” he ordered dangerously. “Or you’ll lose that hand.”

“How are you doing this?” the hostess shrieked, tears welling up in her eyes, streaming over plump, ashen cheeks.

“Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that—hey, why haven’t you seated us yet? Terrible customer service,” Sam said, shaking his head with amusement.

The woman struggled to her feet, still tethered to Sam via psychic connection. Briefly, Sam debated the merits of wrapping his powers around her throat and simulating the feel of a tight collar. It was a good plan, he decided, switching focus to the woman’s neck. The hostess gagged, her fingers scrabbling at her throat. “Oh calm down, I’m not choking you,” Sam quipped, chuckling at her struggles. “It’s just a little collar. Lots of people wear them—every single damn day.”

The woman hiccupped, tears streaming down her face. “R—right this way,” she spluttered, waving them towards a table in the corner.

Sam grinned and diverted some of his mental energy towards barricading the door before following the hostess and sliding into the booth. “Let’s see, how about three margaritas, and some of that extra salsa for the Alpha here,” he said, patting Meg on the rump as she slid beside him.

“Hey Handsy, knock it off,” Meg said snarkily, punching his shoulder hard.

The hostess shook as she fumbled out a pad of paper. “T-two margaritas and a vi-virgin mar—”

“Did anyone order a virgin margarita?” Ruby asked loudly, shooting the woman a look of annoyance.

The hostess flinched, sniveling pathetically. “We c-can’t serve alcohol to O-Omegas. We’d lose our license—” she gasped, her airways cut off as Sam tightened his grip around her throat.

“Why don’t you worry less about my reproductive system and more about your life?” Sam asked dangerously.

The woman sniffled. “Three margaritas, c-coming right up,” she whimpered, backing away from the table.

Sam grinned and lounged back in his booth. “So, ladies, do anything fun while I was in training?” he asked, twirling a fork between his fingers.

“Fucked a priest,” Meg responded archly. “It was boring.”

“That’s because you picked the bad lay,” Ruby responded smugly. “Age and experience over youth and vigor.”

Sam snickered. “And how far did the blood spread when you were finished?” he asked lazily.

A short, round man came up to their table, bristling with indignation. Sam glanced up at him, smirking; the man’s husband and three children sat at the table nearest to them. Well, his husband and two of his children sat—a third knelt on the floor, shaking, his thick collar too large for his thin neck. “Do you mind?” the Beta snapped angrily. “First you come in all loud and breaking the law, and now you’re talking about—there are _children_ here. This is a family restaurant, and some of us would like to eat in peace!”

Sam snorted, glancing at Ruby and Meg. “You heard the guy,” he said sarcastically. “There are children here. What should we do?”

Ruby grinned salaciously. “Well, we did promise our dear driver a snack,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “Any of his look young enough?”

Sam glanced at the table. “Yeah, girlie over there,” he said casually. “Jackass,” he barked, directing his attention to the indignant Beta. “Go sit the fuck down and keep your nose out of our business, or we’ll feed your little girl to our driver.”

The man gaped, his face purpling with rage. “What kind of demented—”

Annoyed, Sam mentally reached for the man’s head and twisted hard. The Beta’s chin whipped around, his neck snapping audibly; the man crumpled to the ground, dead. The man’s husband released a piercing screech, throwing himself away from his table and skidding across the floor towards his dead partner. “Jack—Jack, no!”

Sam chuckled and glanced around the restaurant. All eyes were upon his table; he grinned and offered a tiny wave. “Anyone else want to complain?”

A young Alpha and Beta couple rose, sprinting for the door. Sam snorted as they jiggled the handle and banged on the glass, screaming. “There’s no getting out,” he called brightly. “Might want to sit down and enjoy your meal. Keep quiet, and just maybe we won’t kill you when we leave.”

“Goody-goody,” Ruby muttered.

The hostess returned, balancing three margaritas and a basket of chips on a tray held by shaking hands. Drink slopped down the side of Sam’s glass as she set it before him; he decided to let the infraction slide.

“Hey,” Meg demanded as she turned to leave. “I ordered a busboy.”

The woman squeaked, flinching. “N-no one’s available,” she whispered breathily, trembling.

“That so?” Meg glanced around the table and shrugged. “Fine. You’ll do,” she said, nodding at Sam.

Sam smirked and flicked his fingers, snapping the woman’s head around backwards. Several people shrieked; Meg cackled and reached down, dragging the woman up on the table. “Bitch calls this extra salsa?” she asked scornfully, pulling forth a knife and sawing off one of her fingers. “This is enough for maybe one hand.”

“Bring home leftovers,” Ruby suggested, taking a chip between two fingers.

Sam doubted that anyone else would come out to take their order, but that was fine. He and Ruby picked their way through the chips while Meg cut strips off the unfortunate hostess, dipping the raw, bloody meat in salsa and eventually venturing forth to try the white sauce. Conversation came easily; even the wails and whimpers of their fellow patrons could not detract from the easy camaraderie.

“Want some?” Meg offered when Sam and Ruby had finished their chips, gesturing towards the hostess. “It’s not bad. A little gristly, but I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, can I have the tongue?” Ruby asked, holding out her fork.

“I’m good,” Sam said, waving off Meg’s curious look. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried human—in bed with demons, might as well say “screw it” to all semblance of moral fiber—but he wasn’t particularly fond of the taste, or the texture. Something about eating his own species felt wrong, somehow—killing them was one thing, but cannibalism was simply not his cup of tea.

“More for me,” Meg said with a shrug, stabbing her fork into the hostess’s eye socket and pulling out the organ with a wet plop. “You guys good to go? I can take this home.”

Sam nodded, pushing back from the table to rise. “Just one more thing,” he muttered, scanning the horrified restaurant. His eyes lit upon a table—an Alpha and Beta couple, a young, shivering Omega kneeling between the two women. They’d been busy, Sam thought wryly; three young children and two teenagers sat at the table with them, and a third teenager knelt beside the Omega slave on the floor. In a high chair, a baby sat, babbling in complete ignorance of the carnage around her. Sam’s lips twisted in a smirk—perfect. He stalked over to the table and laid a hand on both Omegas’ backs. “Better than being a whore,” he muttered, stopping their hearts. As the Omegas fell forward, dead, Sam turned to the infant and reached for it, plucking the baby from her seat. “Will this one do, guys?” he called, holding the infant up. The child, suddenly distressed at being held by a stranger, began to wail, wriggling in Sam’s arms.

“Looks good,” Ruby shouted, nodding her approval.

“Please,” the Beta of the couple gasped, reaching out to grab Sam’s shirt. “Not my baby. Please, please don’t take my baby!”

Sam threw the Beta a scathing glance. “Just assume she’d have grown up to be an Omega,” he responded coldly, jerking from her grasp. “Nothing wrong with losing another _bitch,_ am I right?”

The woman sobbed, messy tears streaming down her face. “Please, please, she’s just an infant! She’s only six months—”

“So was your other daughter at one point,” Sam replied coldly, glancing at the prone bodies on the floor. “That girl _was_ your daughter, wasn’t she?”

“Come on, enough grandstanding,” Meg snipped from beside the door. “I’ve already called our driver. He’s real excited to get his snack.”

“No!” screamed the Alpha, reaching desperately for her daughter. Sam sighed and shifted the child to free one of his arms, catching the woman’s wrist in an iron grip. Flesh bubbled and burned as he focused, charring the woman from the inside out.

“Yes,” Sam replied calmly. “All right,” he said, stepping over the bodies to meet Meg and Ruby at the door. “Let’s head out.”

Humans. Sam couldn’t believe he’d ever preferred them to demons. At least demons were honest, even when they sold out their own kind. Sam unlocked the doors and led Ruby and Meg out to the car, handing the screaming infant off to the driver. Meg laid the half-eaten body of the hostess in the front seat and climbed into the back, and they were off, back to the compound for more fun and training. Back _home,_ to the first place where Sam had ever truly felt that he belonged.


	8. The Travelers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean attempts to figure out what Castiel is; when Cas kills several demons that come after them, he begins to think that perhaps the man really is an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers! Does anyone feel kidnappy? Want to come snag me away from my family before I have to put up with another day of their bullshit? ....I'm only halfway joking, I love my family very much when I don't have to deal with them in person. Sigh. Oh well.
> 
> Have a chapter! Comments are my lifeblood, and if you so feel like giving me a transfusion of such happiness to help me through bigoted family members and snarky comments about.... well, everything.... I will owe you my soul. Not even joking.

The drive to Port Royal was a long one, not a trek that could be made without at least a few overnight stops. Dean pulled off in some no-name town in Kansas after nearly sixteen hours in the car and checked into a shady motel. John probably had kept going, but Dean could meet up with him later. He secured a room and took Castiel inside, seating the creature on the bed while he laid salt lines in front of the door and the two grimy windows.

“Okay,” Dean said when the room was secure. It was increasingly hard to keep his cool; Castiel had hit the full throes of his heat somewhere in Colorado, and that intoxicating scent threatened to erase all rationality from his mind. Still, Dean was a hunter, and that meant that his self-control was as good as it got. He turned to face the creature, swallowing hard as the full scent of the heated man hit his nostrils. His body didn’t understand why it couldn’t just take the Omega in heat; his cock throbbed angrily, tight and painful in his jeans. Some quality time with himself in the shower would be needed, just after he’d made sure that Castiel was not a threat.

“So. Angel of the lord, huh?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at the man. Castiel squirmed, clearly uncomfortable, but his face did not seem to register any pain. Strange—Dean remembered Sammy’s heats vividly. He’d always spent those days as far from the room as possible—watching his little brother masturbate furiously while sobbing in agony was pretty far down on his list of enjoyable activities, a bit below having a broken bone set without anesthetic.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, absently rocking back and forth. Dean grimaced—he would love to say that the sight of the creature wriggling with need wasn’t arousing, but… It was no matter. He could control himself.

“You won’t mind if I put you through some tests to make sure you’re not gonna turn around and gut me in my sleep, then.”

Castiel shook his head. “Test away,” he replied absently.

Dean nodded and reached for his silver knife. The blade went easily through Castiel’s arm, flesh sealing itself shut almost as quickly as it split. Salt produced no reaction; Castiel easily gripped an iron bar, and did not even blink when Dean tossed holy water on him. Dean sighed; clearly the creature was supernatural, but he was not sure _what_ he was. Maybe Bobby would have some ideas.

He hated to turn to more extreme methods, but he hated the idea of being caught off guard even more. A flame pressed to Castiel’s finger did not catch; a bullet to the man’s leg, and he didn’t even flinch. “Well,” Dean said finally, swallowing hard. “Guess that’s that.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he said, “that’s that. I told you, Dean. I’m an angel. Human safety measures will not harm me.”

Well shit. Dean rubbed his eyes and sat, thinking hard.

“Dean.” He glanced up; Castiel stared at him, wide blue eyes cool and fathomless in their depths. “I will need to use your shower. At my current strength, I do not have the power to banish my vessel’s hormonal cycles.”

Dean blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Uh—yeah. Do that,” he said awkwardly. Castiel nodded and rose, leaving the bedspread soaking in his wake. Primal lust surged through Dean; he was on his feet before he knew it, reaching for the Omega before he remembered himself and drew back. His body screamed in frustration, furious, as Castiel disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Groaning, Dean made his way back to his bed, and then past it, sinking to his knees and burying his nose in the wet spot left by Castiel’s dripping slick. A haze of hormones descended upon him, clouding his mind; unthinkingly, he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock free, groaning as he wrapped his hand around the shaft. Face shoved into that pheromone laced slick, grip firm around his cock, he could almost pretend that he was fucking into Castiel’s hand, preparing himself to sink into that warm, welcoming hole.

Dean didn’t know firsthand what it would be like to be with an Omega, but he imagined that it would be similar to sex with a female Beta, coupled with the tightness associated with male Betas. He groaned, fisting himself desperately, curling his thumb around the head of his cock as he jerked his palm back and forth.

A high, keening cry sounded from the bathroom, laced with pleasure and need. Castiel. Dean growled, shuddering with the effort that it took to keep his face pressed to the mattress, to not burst through the door and bend the Omega over right there in the shower. He was better than base instinct, he reminded himself. He was better than that, no matter how blue the Omega’s eyes were, no matter how dark his hair against his smooth skin, no matter how pretty his moans—

Dean growled and came over his fist, his knot swelling under his hand. With a sigh, Dean peeled away his palm and stared at the thick lump of flesh. Great. Popping a knot from masturbating like some horny teenager—what was next, bitching about math and braiding Sammy’s hair while he slept—

Dean slammed down on the thought. It wasn’t funny, not anymore. Sammy was dead, and the only thing he could do was gank the sonofabitch who’d killed him. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was the closest he could get to closure.

It was hours before Castiel exited the shower, naked save for a towel, and none too soon for Dean’s human needs. Dean made a beeline for the bathroom, embarrassed by his urgency, and found Castiel’s collar discarded on the counter, alongside several small golden barbells. Frowning, he quickly relieved himself. While in the bathroom, he took the opportunity to brush his teeth and then picked up the collar, unlocking the door and stepping out into the bedroom. “Cas, you—”

He gulped, blood rushing from his head straight to his crotch as the man in question looked up at him with lust-filled eyes, naked and sweating on the bed, one hand wrapped around his cock, three fingers buried in his ass. “It won’t stop,” the Omega panted, grinding shamelessly back into his hand. “I was—unaware that heats were so intense.”

“Okay.” Dean covered his eyes and stumbled back into the bathroom. “I’m just gonna—yeah. You take care of that.” He closed the door, shaking his head. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in a bathtub.

Several minutes passed before a knock sounded on the door. “I apologize that you witnessed that,” Castiel said, sounding sheepish. “My heat seems to have passed for now.”

“You dressed?” Dean asked, cracking the door. Castiel stood awkwardly, Dean’s shirt swimming on his smaller frame. “We’ve gotta get you some pants, man.”

Castiel cocked his head. Dean sighed—this was a discussion for another day, when he wasn’t so drained. “Here,” he said, holding the collar out to the man. “Put this on. I really don’t feel like getting arrested.”

Castiel frowned, but he slipped the collar around his throat. “How long has your culture required such barbaric restraints?” he asked as he buckled the strap loosely.

Dean sighed. “I dunno, man. Forever?”

“That is not true,” Castiel said, his gaze unwavering. “It has been many centuries since my kind turned our gaze directly towards humanity, but less than two thousand years ago, such devices would have been seen as barbaric. The great kings of Egypt crowned many Omegas alongside the Alphas and Betas in their number. Heaven would weep at the mere thought of buckling a collar around the blessed throat of the holy virgin mother.”

Dean snorted. “I don’t know about religious psychobabble,” he said with a shrug. “Far as I know, it’s always been like this.”

Castiel frowned, staring at Dean. “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “And you approve?”

“Me? Hell no.” Dean scowled at the man. “This sort of shit put my brother through the mental wringer. I don’t like it, but it’s just how it is.”

“That’s right. Samuel Winchester is of the Omega sex,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “The host should have paid more attention. I fear that such an oversight will bode ill for mankind.”

“What are you on about?” Dean asked, slumping down on the bed. How Castiel knew his brother’s name he had no idea, but hearing it hurt. If only he hadn’t failed Sam. Hell, maybe his brother would have had some idea what the creature before him actually was.

Castiel laid a kind hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Oppression makes it much too easy for dark forces to lay hold of a victim,” he said gently. “The angels have known Samuel Winchester to be an unknown in the scheme of good and evil, long before he was even born. I fear that evil will have a stronger case in converting your brother than will good.”

Dean stared at Castiel, anger building in his chest. “What the hell?” he demanded finally, knocking the man’s hand from his shoulder. “Sammy’s not evil! And it doesn’t matter anyways. He’s dead.”

Castiel frowned, meeting Dean’s gaze. “Samuel Winchester is not dead,” he said slowly. “He is neither in Heaven nor Hell, nor is he bound as a spirit to the human world. My fear is not that your brother is dead, but that he is—lost.”

Dean glared furiously at the man, the so-called angel, before him. He would not allow those words to ignite a spark of hope in his chest. “How can you know that he’s alive?”

Castiel shrugged. “I am an angel of the lord,” he said, and if Dean heard that sanctimonious phrase one more time, he was going to punch the man. “Certain souls have great impact on the balance between Heaven and Hell. Samuel Winchester is one such soul. Were he dead, all of Heaven would know.”

Dean shook his head. “Okay, so, say you’re not lying,” he said finally.

“I’m not,” Castiel replied steadily.

“Yeah, okay. You—you listen here.” Dean jabbed a finger at the man. “My brother is _not_ evil.”

“Not inherently,” Castiel said agreeably. “However, he is not inherently good either. Samuel Winchester is one of those rare souls with the power to shift the balance of all that is good either for better or for worse. If he is in the hands of demons, it might be too late for him.”

Dean shivered. “It won’t be,” he said firmly. “Sammy’s the best kid I ever knew, and I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother.”

Castiel regarded him for a long moment before turning his head to stare at the wall. “I hope you are correct.”

0o0o0o0o0

Castiel should have still been in heat the next morning, but when Dean awoke the man’s scent had decreased to an ordinary, mildly pleasant tone, a day-to-day Omega smell. “I have ended my vessel’s cycle,” Castiel said when Dean asked. “Human arousal is taxing at the best of times. My grace will recharge much more quickly without that distraction.”

Dean shrugged and pulled a protein bar out of the side pocket of his duffel. He offered one to Castiel, who waved it away absently. “You keep saying vessel,” Dean said, crumbs spilling out of his full mouth. He swallowed, smacking his lips briefly before continuing. “What d’you mean by that?”

Castiel offered him a small, almost pitying smile. “Angels have no corporeal form,” he said patiently. “When we must manifest on Earth, we seek out the devout and special and ask permission to inhabit their bodies. If such a person accepts, we use their bodies as a way to maintain form on this plane.”

“So that,” Dean said, jerking a finger at the man, “isn’t your real form? There’s some poor guy locked away in there with you?”

Castiel frowned, tilting his head. It was an endearing characteristic, and perhaps the man’s only saving grace—Dean was strongly tempted to punch him for taking over a human body. “I would not consider my vessel to be poor,” he said. “If at any moment my vessel chooses to revoke consent, I will be expelled from his body. It is a continuing partnership.”

Dean nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Right. So, all that time when you were stuck with a demon, the poor sap didn’t think to kick you out? Seems to me if you’re actually an angel, a demon would be more interested in chasing you down than torturing some run of the mill human.”

Castiel grimaced. “That,” he said reluctantly, “was an unfortunate circumstance. When Alastair bound my grace and set me to human existence, he locked my vessel’s consciousness. My vessel has woken now, and requested that I send him to sleep. I have been told that experiencing consciousness as an angel is overwhelming for humans.”

Yeah, the guy was telling the truth, and Dean was a Disney princess. Still, it wasn’t like there was anything he could do. Even calling Dad and having him shoot the guy with the colt would probably kill the sad sucker Castiel was inhabiting. “Whatever,” Dean said, balling up his breakfast’s wrapper and jamming it into his pocket. “Hit the head if you need to, and let’s get on the road.”

“I do not think hitting my head will accomplish much,” Castiel replied seriously. Dean rolled his eyes—a real joker, this one—and slung his duffel over his shoulder.

Castiel sat silently as they drove through the day, waving aside all offers of food and water and use of the restroom both times Dean stopped for gas and cheap greasy goodness. They were halfway through Tennessee before Dean decided to call it a night, pulling off into a familiarly shady motel and securing a room.

Dean did not bother to speak, electing instead to simply toss Castiel a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and wave him towards the bathroom. “I have no need to shower, Dean,” the man protested, but acquiesced under Dean’s glare.

Dean thumbed through his wallet, grimacing at its sparse contents. Somewhere in this dinky little town there had to be a bar with a pool table, he reasoned. Quickly, he scribbled a note for Castiel, warning the creature to stay in the room and keep his collar _on,_ and then he left, driving around until he found a promising looking club.

The town’s so-called pool sharks didn’t stand a chance, Dean was pleased to note. Nearly five hundred dollars richer and pleasantly buzzed from several rounds of shots, he made his way back to the motel room, fumbling open the door and staggering over the threshold.

He stopped dead, staring at the scene before him. Three bodies lay sprawled on the floor; only one of the men was breathing. Castiel knelt beside the still living man, two fingers pressed to his face. “What the hell, Cas?” Dean yelped, striding across the room to kneel beside the wheezing figure.

“Alastair did not take well to my escape,” Castiel said flatly, stormy eyes dull and haunted. “He sent these three after me. Only one human survived the purge.”

“Purge?” Dean demanded. “You exorcise these mothers, or—”

“No,” Castiel said. “I killed the demons within them. I do not know if these two—” he gestured to the lifeless humans on the floor “—were already deceased, or if their bodies were simply unable to handle the sudden expulsion.”

Dean swallowed hard. “You can kill demons?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Of course. I am—”

“Yeah, yeah, angel of the lord. You’ve mentioned.” Dean exhaled, slumping down beside the man. “Damn, Cas, that’s—wow.”

The man on the floor groaned, his eyes fluttering open weakly. He caught sight of Cas and yelped, scrabbling backwards across the dirty carpet. “Don’t hurt me, man, please!” he begged, eyes rolling in his head.

Castiel frowned, cocking his head. “I will not hurt you,” he said slowly. “I purged the demon inside of you. You are free to go.”

“Demon. Right.” The man nodded shakily. “That’s what that was? That black smoke?”

Castiel nodded. Dean sucked in a breath—well, at least Cas wasn’t lying about the demons. Maybe he actually could kill the bastards.

“You a priest or something?” the man asked, stuttering slightly as he looked around the room. “’Cause I never met an Omega priest, and this ain’t like any church I’ve ever seen.”

A small smile passed over Castiel’s lips. “A priest, no. Nonetheless, I do God’s work.” He rose, extending a hand to help the man to his feet.

The man’s eyes lingered briefly over Castiel’s collar, and he cast a questioning look at Dean. Dean did not respond—he wasn’t Castiel’s owner, for fuck’s sake. The man could help someone to his feet without permission. After a moment’s pause, the man took the proffered hand and pulled himself upright.

“You saved my life, didn’t you?” he asked Cas, swallowing hard.

Castiel’s eyes bore down upon the man, intense and unwavering. “Perhaps,” he said finally. “Something tells me that a soul of your caliber would have withstood possession better than most. Give me your hand.” The man extended an arm, and Castiel pressed their palms together. The air crackled with some sort of intense energy, the lights flickering for a brief moment, and then the room returned to normal and Castiel pulled back. “I have sealed some insurance into your bones,” he said seriously, “a carving of sorts. No demon will be able to possess you again.”

The man stared at his hand, eyes wide. “I would suggest that you go,” Castiel said gently. “The demon who gave the order to find me will send more when he realizes that his fellows are dead.”

Castiel’s words were all that it took for the man to bolt from the room. The creature—Dean could actually believe that he was, in fact, an angel—glanced down at the remaining bodies on the floor. “Such a waste,” he murmured softly.

“You said there’s gonna be more?” Dean asked, digging through his duffel and pulling out the salt. “How’d they get in here, anyways?”

“A small break in the salt line at the far window,” Castiel replied calmly.

“Damn,” Dean muttered, striding to the window and shaking a liberal amount of salt over the crack. “That should hold ‘em.”

“It will suffice,” Castiel agreed. “I would like to know how Alastair is tracking me. It was one thing when I first manifested—such a shift of power tends to draw demons from across the globe. I will have to confer with the leader of my garrison after we have stopped Azazel.”

Dean decided that it would be easiest to just pretend that he had some idea what the hell the man was talking about. “Right, then. You got any more news on this Azazel?”

Castiel shook his head. “There are no angels directly in Port Royal. I only know that there is suffering.”

“Wait,” Dean said, frowning. “There’s a badass demon killing people, and you’re not doing anything to stop it?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed as he drew himself up to his full height. “Misery and suffering abound across the earth, Dean, and our numbers are too few to stop it. Not with the armies of Hell preparing to launch a full scale onslaught against Heaven. We will win, but it will be costly. We do not have time to handle every demon that roams your world.” Scorching with intensity, Castiel’s gaze bored into Dean; he swallowed hard, taking a step back. “In any case, it seems the demons are getting clever. Alastair managed to bind me, and I doubt that I was the only angel caught off guard. If demons have the capacity to trap angels, it will take us longer to cut through their generals.”

“Okay, fine.” So much for fluffy-winged guardians with harps, he guessed. Sam would’ve had a fit—but he wasn’t going to think about Sam. Warrior angels sounded much more useful than white-robed saps in halos, but apparently not useful enough. “But you’re going to stick with us? Help us gank the bastard?”

Castiel nodded. “I think that is best,” he said dryly. “I seem to have attracted Alastair’s attention in a rather… uncomfortable manner. I would like the opportunity to confer with a specialist before I confront him again.”

Dean nodded. Yeah, uncomfortable seemed like an understatement, judging by the position in which they had found the angel. “Good,” he said, for lack of a better response. Glancing at the clock, Dean nodded towards the bed nearest the door. “I’ll take that bed,” he said abruptly, “so I guess you’re stuck with the other.”

“I have no need to sleep,” was Castiel’s only response.

Well, bully for him. Dean yanked off his boots and wriggled out of his jeans and jacket, collapsing on the bed in his T-shirt and boxers. “Gimmee four hours, and we can hit the road.”

“An adult human male requires at least—”

“Four hours,” Dean said firmly. “That’s all I need.”

Castiel did not bother to reply. Dean sighed and rolled over, closing his eyes. Maybe he should have asked for five, even six. He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to be drifting off any time soon.


	9. The Old Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam learns that Dean and John are looking for him, and is warned that he may have to face angels sooner than expected. John, Dean, and Cas pinpoint the yellow eyed demon's base of operations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry this chapter is so short! And that I missed Sunday's update... Finals are kicking my ass. I've also had a bit of block on this story, so I've been devoting a lot of my writing time to a kink meme fill... So this has been a bit on the back burner. Eheheh. Finals end on the 18th, so fair warning that I might be late on updates until then. The curse of being an English major is that I have a crapload of papers to write.
> 
> Warnings: Sex (wow, het sex, who knew I could write that?) and mild sexual harassment. For information on female Alpha and Beta physiology (because I have not read enough fics that deal with it to know if there is any sort of coherent agreement on it) you can refer to this story's Genetic Canon: http://ashitanoyuki-on-ao3.tumblr.com/Boy-King-Genetic-Canon

“Ride him harder,” Meg ordered, lounging back in a chair beside the bed where Sam lay sprawled, naked, his hands clenched tight on Ruby’s hips. The demon above him moaned, her walls clenching around Sam’s cock as she sped up the pace, slamming her hips down with brutal, passionate force, small Beta penis bouncing with the motion. “Don’t hold back,” Meg said with a wicked grin as Ruby came with a loud cry, shuddering and collapsing onto Sam’s chest. “You know Mama likes to hear those noises.”

“Calling yourself Mama is _not_ sexy,” Ruby muttered, burying her face in Sam’s chest.

“That’s why I do it, sweet-cheeks,” Meg replied cheerfully, an obscene leer crossing her face. “Come on. My turn.”

Sam had been extremely wary when the two demons had suggested setting up a mutually beneficial, open sexual relationship. He had only known them for a few months at that point; his prior experiences with sex had been unpleasant, to say the least. The deciding factor in whether or not the sex was good, he had decided, was consent. Submitting to Ruby and Meg in bed was a damn wonderful experience, enough so that he’d tested it out with other partners. As for the widespread belief that Omegas’ cocks were vestigial, well, his was about as vestigial as Meg’s clit, he’d long since decided. Not so much.

Ruby groaned and rolled off Sam, the long blonde hair of her current meat suit falling lazily over heaving breasts. “Yeah, your turn,” she said breathlessly, taking a moment before rising from the bed. “Mount up, cowgirl.”

“Now who’s the unsexy one?” Meg asked scathingly, climbing onto the bed and straddling Sam’s face. “Make it good for me, Sammy boy,” she ordered.

“And if I make it bad?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Meg chuckled. “Then you’ll be in for a tr—oh!” she gasped, her thighs clenching as Sam’s tongue darted out to lick her moist, dripping lips.

Sam drew back slightly to smirk. “Meg,” he said slowly, wicked eyes gleaming. “I think I’m going to be very bad.”

Meg’s thighs trembled as Sam dove in, eagerly burying his face in her wet, seeping folds, tongue dancing over trembling skin, flicking teasingly at her clit and drawing back to revel in her squirms. A hot pulse of need surged to Sam’s groin as the demon moaned obscenely, thighs squeezing his face like a vice. Each breath drew in more of her moist, musky scent, sending his head spinning; more, he needed more, he could do this forever and never stop. That would ruin half the fun, though; he drew back, resting his head on the pillow and smirking at the demon.

“Oh no you don’t,” Meg growled fiercely, seizing his hair and holding him in place, rutting against his lips. Sam kept his mouth closed just long enough to tease before parting his lips slightly, placing them over her clit and sucking. Her startlingly high cry was enough to spur him on, licking and nibbling, tonguing her folds, slipping his tongue as far into her pussy as it would reach.

His face drenched with her juices, rubbed his nose against her clit, reaching up to place his hands on her hips. Meg took the hint and slid down his body, her crotch sliding down his neck and abdomen. “Ready, pet?” she asked, slightly breathless. Sam nodded, his cock throbbing with approval. Meg lifted her hips just enough to position herself over Sam’s erection before sinking down, her pussy clenching tightly around Sam’s cock.

Meg rode him hard, as she always did—no sweet lovemaking among demons, just wild, passionate sex. When her knot began to swell, inverted female cock sliding from its sheath, she pulled off and rolled him over, sinking into his wet, ready passage just in time to fully lock inside him. Sam moaned, coming hard on her knot and collapsing into the mattress.

Beside the bed, Ruby applauded lazily. “Porn worthy, you two,” she declared sardonically. “My panties are dripping all over again.”

“You’re not wearing underwear,” Meg replied, resting her forearms on Sam’s back.

“It’s the thought that counts.”

The sound of a man clearing his throat drew Sam’s attention to the door. “Can I help you?” he asked, eyes roving over the intruder’s body. Another one of Azazel’s minions—a new one, it seemed.

“Azazel needs to speak with you,” the demon said nervously, shifting where he stood. “Immediately, he said.”

Sam groaned. “Tell him I’ll be a little while. I’m a little tied up here.” Beside him, Ruby snorted.

“I’m sorry—apparently it’s urgent.” The demon flinched, as though expecting Sam to attack him.

“Just piggy-back me,” Meg suggested. “I’ll pull out as soon as possible.”

Sam shrugged. Well, it wasn’t as though Azazel had never seen him naked, or was unaware of his sexual activities. Hell, his mentor had even joined in a few times. “Okay,” he agreed, struggling awkwardly to his knees. Meg wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed a blanket off the bed, slipping it around their shoulders. Clothed as he was going to get in such a position, Sam followed the demon out of the room.

Azazel quirked an eyebrow at Sam when he entered the demon’s study, his torture chamber and experimental laboratory. “Glad you could make it, Sam, Meg,” he said, pushing his chair back and rising. The back of the seat hit one of several humans hanging from Azazel’s walls; the woman let out a low groan in response. “Have a seat.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at his mentor. “Or stand, for the moment,” Azazel amended. “We seem to have hit a snag in our plans.”

Sam frowned. “A snag?” he queried, resting a hip against the edge of the table.

“I’m afraid so.” Azazel sighed, running a finger over a long, slender silver blade resting atop a myriad of old papers. “Heaven has decided to send a few of its forces to Earth to contend with those of us still here. We have to worry about angels now, as well as humans and renegade demons.”

Sam knew that the demons were fighting a war against heaven. It was the final game plan—take Earth first, and then move towards heaven. He simply hadn’t expected that there would be any mixing of the two. “What do I need to do?” he asked.

“We’re working on that,” Azazel replied grimly. “Alastair has developed a sigil from Old Enochian to bind angels to their human vessels, but we don’t have a way to kill them yet. It’s the only thing that’s keeping us from gaining a foothold in heaven, and now we have to contend with them on Earth.” He shook his head. “You might be able to kill them with force of will. If legend holds true, the big man upstairs valued humans over angels, so you just might have the raw power. We don’t know for certain.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Well, I can try,” he said. Killing demons had been difficult to master, but the last time Azazel had brought in a group of upstarts, he had blown them to smithereens without having to so much as lift his hand. If ever there was a time to learn to kill an angel, it was now.

“As soon as we can bind an angel for practice, we’ll work on that,” Azazel said, clearly pleased with his answer. “It might be sooner than expected. Alastair was stupid enough to let his test subject fall into enemy hands. They’re looking for you.”

“For me?” Sam stared at his mentor. “How do they even know about me?”

Azazel stepped around the desk and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “This might be difficult to hear, and I need you to keep your head on your shoulders,” he said, not unkindly. “Word from our informants says that they found the angel while looking for me. Our enemies found out I am on Earth because they dropped in on a little meat bag named Brett White while looking for you.”

Sam sucked in a breath. “My dad and brother?” he asked, gripping the table to steady himself.

Azazel nodded sympathetically. “You’re a great general, Sam, sharp and ruthless as any demon, but you’ve still got that pesky humanity to you,” he said slowly. “I need to know that you’ll crush that remnant at any cost. Your father and brother are our enemies. You cannot let them use human emotion to get under your skin.”

Dad and Dean. They hadn’t abandoned him after all—for all the good it did him. Sam swallowed hard, thinking. Memories of good-hearted tussles with Dean flooded his mind, of hunching over for books searching for lore with Dad, of Dean carrying him on his shoulders and Dad throwing himself in front of a werewolf for him. Then there were the other memories. A collar, thick and dark, buckled around his throat while he sobbed, begging his father not to sign the papers acknowledging that he was an Omega. Screaming for Dean in that bar bathroom, while his brother was off gallivanting with some slut. John, red-faced and furious, arguing against him going to college. All those nights where he had begged for someone to save him from his personal hell, and no one had come for him.

The bad outweighed the good. Sam nodded and squared his shoulders. “I won’t let them get to me,” he said firmly, shifting as Meg slid down his body, her knot deflated enough to pull free. “They’re not my family anymore. If it comes down to it, I’ll kill them.”

Azazel smiled, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Just what I wanted to hear, Sammy,” he said, pride clear on his face. Sam basked in the praise, returning the demon’s smile. This was his family now. If he ever wanted to reconnect with the Winchesters, he could do so in Hell.

0o0o0o0o0

“Is human transportation always so slow?” Cas grumbled for at least the third time, slouched in the front seat of the Impala. Dean shot him an annoyed look before turning his attention back to the road.

“No,” he said shortly. “There’s metal death traps called planes, and they’re about the worst things ever invented. We stick to cars for a reason, Cas. Besides, Baby’s not slow. We’re doing almost twice the speed limit.”

“Airplane travel has a much lower death rate than automobile crashes, especially when weighted for the commonality of such travel.”

Dean scowled. “You know what I just heard, Cas? Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah, I’m a smartypants with a stick up my ass.” He reached for the volume dial, Metallica blaring loudly through the car, drowning out the angel’s protests.

They had hit South Carolina in the early afternoon, and only now was the sun beginning to descend. For the past several hours, the angel had done little but complain, and Dean was just about ready to pull over and clock the guy. As if it were his fault that Castiel’s heavenly mojo, or whatever the hell he had, was keeping him earthbound for the time being!

“Your father’s at the motel twenty miles down the street and on the left,” Cas said, his voice just barely audible over pulsing drums and loud guitars.

“You know this how?” Dean asked. He really didn’t need to rely on some super-goody heavenly GPS. Then again, he supposed they already were, coming to South Carolina in the first place.

“Your father sent you a text message,” Castiel replied dryly, “which you would know were your music not so loud.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Just what he needed—lectures on volume control from a freaking angel. Next thing he knew, the tooth fairy would be dropping by to scold him for not flossing his teeth.

The angel was blessedly quiet for the rest of the car ride, to Dean’s relief. He pulled in at the back of a derelict old motel, half the sign too crusted over to read. “What room?” he asked, turning off the car.

“Twenty-three,” Castiel replied shortly.

Dean nodded and stepped out of the car, shutting the door firmly behind him. Castiel exited as Dean made his way to the trunk, grabbing his duffel and a cooler of beer from the back. A pair of Betas stood outside one of the rooms, eyes glowing in the dim light, roving over Castiel as they sucked on cigarettes. “C’mon,” Dean muttered, repressing a shudder. He grabbed Castiel’s arm and dragged him towards the room.

“Yeah, get it boy!” one of the Betas leered loudly as Dean yanked open the door. He grimaced and pulled Castiel inside.

“What are they telling you to get?” Cas asked, bemused.

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean dumped his bag on the floor and set the cooler on the table. “Hey, Dad.”

John glanced up from his computer. “Glad you made it, boy,” he said gruffly. “Have a seat.”

Dean nodded, sliding into one of the complimentary hard, plastic chairs, staple of nearly every motel room he’d ever been in. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

John slid a map across the table. “Omens are in red, possible demonic activities in blue,” he grunted. “Most happened in a twelve mile radius from some burnt out old factory about ten miles out. There was talk of refurbishing it as a hotel and selling it off to some developer, but the city dropped the project about a year and a half ago, right about when the first omens started cropping up. My guess is that’s where our bad boy’s keeping his people.”

Dean nodded. “Scout it out and move in?” he asked.

“Yep,” John replied. “You good to go, or do we need to take a sleep break?”

“I’m good,” Dean answered, rolling his shoulders. “Cas?” he asked, directing a quick glance at the angel.

“I have no need for sleep,” Castiel said calmly. “And your father is correct. This factory is a hub of demonic activity.”

John looked up at Dean. “You trust the guy?” he asked, regarding his son warily.

Dean nodded. “Yep. He passed all the creature tests. Blew some demons out of a couple poor saps too,” he said. John probably wouldn’t take too well to hearing that Dean believed Castiel’s assertion that he was an angel, but if his father didn’t ask, he wasn’t going to say anything.

It seemed that his affirmation was good enough for John. “Good. Stock up on holy water and salt rounds. I’d like to leave in ten,” the man said, and that was that.

Loathe as Dean was to leave the Impala at the motel, John insisted that they all pile into his truck. Dean tapped his foot impatiently, already missing the feel of pedals beneath his feet, the loud roar of the Impala’s engine and his ear-splitting music. John kept the volume low, and the truck’s engine purred quietly, allowing near-silence to buzz in Dean’s ears. The quiet was disconcerting, the more so for the lack of conversation in the car.

They parked a block away from the old factory, loading their belts with salt-loaded guns and holy water. Dean slipped a canister of salt into his jacket pocket and turned to his father, nodding. They were as ready as they ever would be.

The first demon they encountered barely had the chance to put up a fight before Castiel reached him, pressing his palm to the creature’s forehead and blowing the demon out in a flash of bright light. One thing to know that the man could kill demons, it was something different entirely to see it; Dean could not help the shiver of wary respect that rolled down his spine. Cas was someone to keep around, for certain.

The demons they ran across fell easily, stunned by salt and burned by holy water, ripped from their meat suits and destroyed at Castiel’s hand. Nervous energy thrummed through Dean’s body, the taste of victory on his tongue. This wasn’t a suicide mission; they could win. He could feel it, every sense attuned to their surroundings, their impending triumph. They were going to take the yellow eyed demon down, end it once and for all, get payback for the hell it had brought to their family.


	10. The First Domino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, John, and Cas were not expecting Sam to be ready for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unscheduled hiatus! Finals were a bitch, aaaaand I lost the activation key for Word, which I had to reload to the new hard drive. Free trial period officially expired literally the day I finished finals. Setbacks upon setbacks, blah blah excuses. I have no way to tell word count like this so I have no idea if I'm going to meet my goal for words per chapter, and formatting may be a bit iffy... But it's better than nothing, right?
> 
> Warnings: Character death, vague references to past rape, uncomfortable discussions of the nature of consent.

Adreneline pumped through Sam's veins as he paced back and forth in the cavernous steel room, the dusty shells of old machines covered in rusty cloths and piled with old tools, ready and waiting for him to throw them with the power of his mind if necessary. Slick, blessed oil from Jerusalem formed a circle at the door, just waiting for Meg to drop her lighter and trap the angel who allegedly traveled with his father and brother. They were as ready as they were ever going to be, and yet Sam could not help but feel jittery, twitchy and on edge. There was no love lost between himself and his family, he reminded himself--least of all between him and his father. He would have no remorse for anything that happened to the man. Dean, on the other hand...

But there was little point in angsting over anything that might happen to his brother. For all that Dean had been his ally through childhood, the man had never actually supported him. If he died, then he had brought it upon himself. Sam shook his head, staring impatiently at the door. There was no delaying this confrontation; he would meet his father and brother on their own terms. He could only hope that Dean, at least, would see reason, join him in his crusade.

The quick patter of footsteps sounded, muffled, through the door. Sam tensed, catching Meg's eye to ensure that she was ready. Meg nodded, palming her zippo and flicking it on. No sooner had the door burst open, three men sprinting into the room, than she dropped the lighter, catching the circle of holy oil ablaze.

John and Dean stumbled through the fire, jeans catching alight. Dean cursed, dropping to the ground and beating the flames from his pants as John bent to slap the fire out of his own clothing. The third man--he must be the angel--was not so lucky. With a loud shriek, he stumbled backwards, flesh sizzling as he desperately pawed at the flames, slamming the fire out with his bare palms.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, leaping to his feet and stepping over the circle of flames, ripping off his leather jacket and smothering the embers. "Damnit," he cursed, grabbing the angel by his shoulders and shaking him. "Cas, you okay?"

Sam shook his head--now wasn't that just like Dean?--and turned his attention to John. His father watched him warily, grief and relief and fury warring for dominance in his eyes. "Sam," John said quietly, his voice shaking. He adjusted his grip on his rifle, taking a step forward.

Sam's lips twisted into a wry grin. "Hey, Dad," he called coolly, raising his hand in a casual wave. "Fancy seeing you here. It's been what, four years? Five now? How goes the search for old yellow eyes?"

"Why don't you tell me?" John asked, bringing his gun up and aiming it at Sam's face. Had he not spent the better part of eighteen years training with the man, Sam might think him calm and calculated, but the minute tremor in his voice, and the way his gun shook ever so slightly, betrayed his emotions. His father was a wreck. Sam smirked at the realization.

"Did you come just to catch up with little old me?" Sam asked, taking a step forward. A flick of his wrist and a tug with his mind, and the gun launched from John's hands, skittering across the floor. To John's left, Sam heard Dean gasp, a low, quiet noise of shock and horror. "Nah, that's not like you. What's the family black sheep when there's a demon to hunt, right?"

John's eyes widened slightly as he stared at his gun, a good fifty feet across the room. "None of that," Sam snapped as his father took a step towards the weapon, raising his hand and stopping him cold. "Believe me, I'd love to stay here for a little family reunion, but I've got bigger fish to fry, and you're in my way."

John took a deep, shuddering breath. "Sam," he said slowly, raising shaking hands. "You know this isn't right. Working with demons--with the demon who killed your mother--"

"What's so wrong with that?" Sam inquired, taking another step towards his father, close enough to smell gun oil and old leather and whiskey over the muted reek of fear. "Mom was in the way. Yeah, it sucks, but there's no changing it. It's time to move forward."

"Sammy." Dean's low voice quivered with distress; Sam had to remind himself not to look over at his brother. "Don't talk like that. We can fix this."

Sam chuckled, his gaze still fixed on John. "I'll get to you in a little, Dean," he promised, waving a hand carelessly. "Right now, I need to finish my conversation with Daddy dearest."

"Sam," Meg warned, coming up behind him. "Put your dick away. We need to get them secured before they--"

"In a minute, Meg." Sam stepped forward, now close enough to feel John's breath on his face. His lips twitched as he stared down at his father, relishing that he had several inches on the man. "Did you ever look for me, Dad?" he asked softly, reaching out and gripping his father's shoulder. John's breath hitched; he flinched guiltily. "I didn't think so." He would pretend that didn't hurt. "Not even a glance in at Stanford-O to realize I was gone? Or did you know? I think you knew, and just left me."

John shook his head, his face haunted. "I'd never have let you go if I'd known--"

"That's worse." Sam smiled bitterly. "See, Dad, this is your problem. You think you have to go after the supernatural to track down evil. Well, evil's human. Take every evil son of a bitch in the world, and you find out he used to be human. Ghosts? Dead humans. Wendigos? Just warped cannibals. Vamps? They used to be human. Hell, even demons used to be human. Did you know that? Because I didn't until I came here."

"We're better than that now, at least," Meg joked, caressing his neck. Sam snorted in agreement.

"Exactly." He raised an eyebrow as John opened his mouth, throat working desperately before he slumped, silent. "And then there's humans themselves. Good old everyday people who haven't run into any supernatural circumstances, and those are the worst of the lot." Sam squeezed his father's shoulder, eyes narrowing. "And you always said they needed protecting. Well, where were you when I needed protection, hm?"

"I was there," John replied quietly, "until you left. That's not my fault."

Sam shook his head. "No," he responded softly, "but you stood back and let everything happen to me, and that's worse." Disgusted, he pulled back, watching his father with an appraising eye. Slumped and defeated, the man just stood there, head bowed, shoulders drooping--pathetic. Useless. Sam grimaced, his lips pulling back in a sneer. "Goodbye, Dad."

He twisted his wrist, bearing down on the man with his mind. John's head whipped around, a loud crack reverberating through the room as his neck snapped. No more than so much useless meat, his father dropped to the ground, collapsing in a pile of splayed limbs and wide, lifeless eyes.

 _"No!"_ Were it not for the rage that coursed through his veins, Sam might have felt pity for his brother upon hearing his anguished voice. The angel tumbled from Dean's lap as he leapt to his feet and over the ring of fire, sprinting across the room and skidding to a halt beside his father's body. "Dad!  _Dad!"_

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asked coldly, seizing his brother by the bicep and dragging him to his feet. "Can't function without Dad calling the shots for you?"

Dean lifted his face to stare at Sam, disbelief painted clearly across his features. "What did you just do?" he croaked, voice catching with emotion. "Sam!  _What did you just do?"_

Quick as a whip, Meg shot around behind Dean, grapping his free arm and wrenching it behind his back. Dean roared in fury, twisting wildly; Meg grabbed Dean's other arm from Sam and pulled his wrists behind his back, holding him firmly. "Come on, Sam," she ordered, twisting Dean's arms so that he was forced to his knees. "I've got big brother here. You need to go work on that angel."

Sam glanced at Dean's bent form. His brother stared up at him, face twisted with grief and betrayal. "Chain him up in Azazel's office," Sam ordered finally, his eyes flicking back to Meg. "I want a minimum of two guards posted on him at all times. I'll deal with him later."

"Aye aye, Captain," Meg replied sardonically, hauling Dean to his feet. Sam watched dispassionately as the demon hauled his brother from the room; the door closed behind her, and he stalked forward, eyes fixed on the prone, weakened angel on the floor.

 

0o0o0o0o0

Castiel knew from the moment he laid eyes on Sam that it was too late; Samuel Winchester was beyond Heaven's help. Pain rippled through his being as he shifted, rising up on his vessel's charred knees; he offered a silent apology to Jimmy for the trauma. Wounds from holy oil were beyond his ability to heal, but if he could make it out of the demons' lair alive, surely one of his brethren would be able to assist him in restoring his vessel, at the very least. As for his own form--he would scar, but he would live. Dean's assistance in putting out the fire had likely saved his life, and he only hoped that they would both live long enough for him to thank the man.

He found his eyes drawn to John's prone form even as Sam stalked towards him, calculating eyes narrowed, drinking him in. Castiel refused to acknowledge the man, fixing his gaze upon John Winchester. He sent a silent prayer to Heaven, hoping that it would take; his brothers and sisters would surely shepherd the man's soul to paradise. There was nothing he could do to save him, trapped in a ring of holy fire, but he could at least ensure that John reached the peace he so deserved.

"So, this is what an angel looks like." Castiel gritted his teeth, refusing to look at Sam. "Funny--I thought you'd be more impressive."

He could reply, but he chose not to. Castiel rose shakily to his feet, his blade sliding from his sleeve into his palm. If he struck quickly, he might be able to take Sam down before the cursed man could do any more damage.

Something tugged at his blade, a powerful force yanking on sleek metal, dragging it forward. Castiel tightened his grip, binding the blade to his true hands, an extension of his body as it ought to be. "You are out of your league, boy," he rumbled, looking up to meet Sam Winchester's eyes. If he squinted, he thought he could see the brightness of the man's soul still shining beneath dark threads and twisted shadows. Perhaps the situation was not so hopeless as he had thought.

Sam shrugged, prowling around the circle. "Yeah, I am," he agreed. Castiel was surprised--he had expected more posturing. "Not for long, though. I don't usually have practice targets walk in out of their own free will."

Castiel scowled, drawing himself up to the full height of his vessel. Several inches shorter than Sam, Jimmy was still an imposing figure, the more so as he allowed filaments of grace to entwine with the man's aura. "There is nothing you can do to me," he remarked, "that demon hordes have not already attempted."

"See, that's where you're wrong." Sam smiled archly. "But enough with the small talk. I'd rather show than tell."

The shadows whirring about Sam's soul darkened and lengthened, stretching out towards Castiel, sliding past Jimmy to grip at his true form. He batted them away easily, corporeal form not even flinching. Like a kitten toying with a lion, Sam reached for him again and again, struggling to secure a grip, to seize his essence and drag him down. Fending the man off was child's play; Castiel raised an eyebrow as the man stepped back, frustrated.

"Do you see now, boy?" Castiel asked coldly. "You cannot harm me."

Sam shrugged. "Not yet," he answered, the barest edges of annoyance coloring his tone. "Like I said, you're a practice target. I can do so much more than any human."

Castiel huffed, almost amused. "Arrogant child," he observed. "How many of your people have you slain in a fool's battle? Do you even realize the magnitude of your actions, if you could possible succeed."

"Yep." Sam spread his arms widely, scrutinizing gaze washing over Castiel. "That's why I signed on in the first place."

"Rather than help humanity, you would rather see it burn? Your own family included?" Castiel queried. The black tendrils surrounding Sam's soul contracted, and he knew his words had affected the man.

"Yes," Sam replied through gritted teeth. "There's nothing worth saving. Not on earth, not in Heaven. Even Hell and demons are better than angels and  _humans,"_ he spat bitterly.

Castiel's eyes narrowed; he tilted his head, watching Sam curiously. "You still care," he remarked. "You are not beyond saving."

"I don't want to be saved," Sam snarled, "not by you. That's a vessel, right? Human?" he asked, gesturing at Jimmy's body. Castiel nodded, his brow furrowing. "Thought so. An Omega, too. Like me. You take that one on purpose?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow, confused. "Jimmy Novak is a good man," he said slowly. "A just man. Any angel would be proud for him to let them in."

Sam snorted. "Sure," he said coldly. "I'm no angel expert, but you have to ask permission before taking a vessel, right? Get their consent?"

What was he getting at? Castiel squinted, trying desperately to get a read on Sam's intentions, but mired and corrupted as his soul was, it was nearly impossible to read. "Yes," he said finally.

Sam nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "I find it funny that you picked an Omega for that," he said. "Or not. A low blow, really. All the people you could have picked, and you went for someone who was always taught that he doesn't have the right to say no."

It was a bolt of realization, and one that Castiel was almost ashamed to acknowledge. Sam was wrong, had to be wrong--months of sharing Jimmy's existence, and Castiel knew that the man's consent came freely. Didn't it? "That was not my intent," he said slowly. "Nor is it the intent of any angel who happens to take an Omega vessel. We are not bound by human conceptions of sex. The host was unaware that such inequities plagued your people until very recently."

Sam shrugged. "The result's the same," he replied coldly. "But I guess the poor schmuck'd be getting screwed over either way. At least this way he'll die quicker."

Castiel shook his head furiously. "You will not kill me, and nor will you kill my vessel," he said firmly.

Sam shrugged, raising a hand. Thin tendrils of power wrapped around Castiel's form, still too weak to cause him damage, but strong in their determination. Despite himself, he felt a shiver of fear; perhaps it was possible that Sam would find a way to inflict damage upon him. "Maybe not today," he whispered, tightening his weak grip around Castiel's form, "but soon."


	11. Crusade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chained in Azazel's study, Dean is confronted by Sam, who seems intent upon converting Dean to his cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get back into the swing of updating, with mixed results. But hey, this one at least is going up on a Sunday! So who knows, the whole Sunday-Thursday schedule might be feasible again?
> 
> Warnings: gore, discussions of rape, discussions of kidnap, discussions of death, discussions of pedophilia, discussions of institutionalized inequality/slavery, an utterly cliche monologue.

“What’s the matter, demon bitch?” Dean taunted as the blonde woman shackled his left wrist to the wall and moved to wrestle his other arm into position. “Can’t—ow!—take me standing?”

The demon raised an arch eyebrow, fixing his other hand into place and stepping back. Dean kicked out at her; the demon caught his foot and pulled, wrenching his arms. “What’s with all the bravado, Deano?” she asked sweetly, her lips twisting in a smile. “Compensating in dear old Daddy’s memory?”

“You cunt,” Dean spat, wrenching at the shackles. Iron squeaked loudly in his ears; beside him, a half-dead woman groaned, head lolling across her shredded chest. “Exor—”

The demon stepped forward and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Go ahead, Dean. Exorcise me. I’ll shred this bitch’s heart on my way out, and your brother will bring me back from Hell quicker than you can blubber over Daddy. Play nice, and maybe I’ll let you keep your tongue.” She smirked, eyes flicking black. “It’s a nice tongue. Bet it can make all the girls wriggle, can’t it?”

Dean bit down furiously on her hand. The demon laughed, patting him on the cheek. “Teeth too! You’re a fun one, Deanie boy.” She drew back, grinning. “Be a good boy while I go check up on your brother. I’m sure you and I will get to spend lots of quality time together.”

“You’d better kill me now!” Dean shouted as the woman turned to leave. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The demon waved flippantly and pulled the door shut behind her. Loud steel clanged shut, the noise reverberating through the room. Dean cursed, pulling at his bonds, scrabbling to feel for a catch, a weakness, anything. Solid iron met his fingertips; without a key, he wasn’t going anywhere. Even a proper lock pick would be difficult to wield from his current angle.

Okay, so this was less than ideal. He hadn’t wagered that Sam would—no. No, he did not want to think about his brother right now. They’d get Sam back, get his head on straight. And if Cas was really an angel, they’d get his father back too, somehow. Sure, he was captive in the meantime, but he had played through hostage situations before, and he had always come out on top.

He needed to focus. Eyes straining in the dark, Dean struggled to scope out the room. Several other humans dangled from the walls with him, each in some state of horrific mutilation. Directly across from him, a man with empty eye sockets twitched feebly, groaning through broken teeth. A pile of limbs spread over an entire corner of the room, topped by the grisly remains of what appeared to be a young child. Flies buzzed over a saucer of pink, stinking meat; Dean refused to believe that it was anything other than pork. The stench of old blood and fear-sweat permeated the room, strong enough to make him gag.

He did not bother addressing any of his fellow prisoners. Few were conscious; fewer still seemed capable of speech. A figure that might have been a teenage girl stared pitifully at him with her one good eye, but her flayed skin and shattered face were too gruesome for Dean to look at her for more than a brief moment. He shivered, drawing back against the wall. He would get no help from any of these people. Even if they could work together to come up with a plan, there was no way any of them would survive so much as a trip out the door.

If Dean had been asked to paint a picture of what Hell might be like, he would have described this room.

Long moments passed, the time stretching on, minutes dragging into hours. The moisture slowly seeped from Dean’s mouth, his tongue growing dry and heavy, his throat cracking with every swallow. Each swipe of his tongue over salty, sand-paper lips seemed to increase his thirst exponentially, an infuriating contrast to the increasing pressure in his bladder. If the demons were going to kill him, he’d rather they get it over with. Hell, even open torture would be all right. At least that sort of pain did not come with this sick, stomach-wrenching anticipation.

Finally, the door creaked open, light spilling into the room. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, drawing up all the moisture in his mouth to spit on the floor. “Finally came back, you black eyed bastards?” he snarled, his voice crackling.

“Black eyed, no.”

Dean’s eyes shot open, watering in the dim light. Sam stood in the doorway, his face haggard, dark shadows prominent under his sunken eyes. Wearily, his brother stepped forward, proud frame stooped with immense exhaustion. “Got to hand it to your friend back there,” Sam said, “he’s tough. It’s going to take a while to figure him out. He’s not so cocky now, though.”

Cas. Dean shivered in spite of himself, staring at his brother in horror. “What did you do to him?” he asked roughly, jerking in his chains.

“Calm down, Dean. I haven’t killed him yet.” Sam pulled a flask from his belt and walked forward, unscrewing the cap as he made his way towards Dean. “You sound like you’ve been gargling rocks,” he commented, pressing the flask to Dean’s lips and tilting it.

The rush of cool water against his parched, chapped skin was like ambrosia, the sweetest drug he had ever encountered. Dean drank hastily, guzzling water until Sam pulled the flask away, liquid trickling down his front. “I swear, Sam, if you hurt him—”

“He’s fine,” Sam said dismissively. “I told you, he’s tough. I’ll get to him eventually, though.”

Dean shook his head, uncomprehending. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Is this really the place for a reunion?” he asked, gesturing with an elegant hand at the bodies and captives around them. “I don’t mind it, but I didn’t think the ambience would be quite to your tastes.”

“You’re just going to kill me anyway,” Dean responded bitterly. A brief flash of hurt crossed over his brother’s face, a split-second glimpse of the boy he knew—and then it was gone, replaced by a hard, steely mask.

“I hope to avoid that,” Sam said coolly. “What I did to Dad was payback, that’s all. You’ve got a lot of paying up to do yourself, but I don’t think you’ve earned a death sentence just yet. Do you want off that wall or not?”

Dean glared, unwilling to give Sam any satisfaction. He did want off the wall, away from the blood and the stench and the tortured bastards who had once been humans like him. Like Sam. But like hell was he going to play into his brother’s hands. Sam shrugged carelessly and dragged forward a plush chair, settling into the seat with a sigh. “He’s good, your friend,” he remarked. “Where did you find him? Angels aren’t exactly a dime a dozen around here.”

Dean turned his face away, staring resolutely at the smeared mass that might once have been a man on the corner wall. Sam chuckled; cloth rustled slightly as the man shifted. “We can have this talk here,” he said conversationally. “I don’t mind, I guess. I’d hoped that you’d play along enough for me to move you into one of the rooms, at least—but I guess you’ve always been stubborn.”

“Bite me,” Dean snapped before he could stop himself.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Sam replied easily. “That’s not my thing.”

_Why._ The question was on the tip of his tongue. Why did you kill Dad? Why did you run off with demons? Why are you torturing Cas? Why did you send me to this festering Hell? Why won’t you _listen,_ come home? He wanted to ask, he needed to know—but he needed to hear it from Sam, and whatever this—this _thing_ —was, it wasn’t his brother. Cas was right. The Sam he knew was gone.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Sam observed. The chink of china sounded loudly in Dean’s ears, and he found that he did not want to know what its contents contained. “I’m sure you’re bursting with questions. Why don’t you go ahead and ask?”

“Sure,” Dean forced out angrily. “In the car, on our way out of here. I’d love to hear your explanations then.”

Sam sighed, shifting audibly. “I’m not leaving, Dean,” he said firmly. “Neither are you. Neither is your angel friend. I’ve found my place here, and like it or not, it’s your place too, now. I get that you’ve got no love for demons, but you don’t need it. Think of them as tools, if it makes you feel any better. They all bow to me anyways.”

It didn’t make him feel better. If anything, he felt worse, sickened by his brother’s dark, flippant attitude. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam prodded. “I know you’re more than the brute muscle Dad trained you to be. I know you want to know what’s going on.”

“Don’t talk about Dad like that,” Dean snarled, his head snapping around to glare at Sam. His brother lifted his hands in a pantomime of surrender, slanted eyes widening, open, earnest.

“It’s true, Dean,” Sam said. “I don’t know why you keep defending the man. That’s all he wanted us to be—soldiers. I just ended up on the other side of his personal holy war. Really, I’m exactly what Dad wanted me to be.”

Dean stared at his brother in disbelief. “Shacking up with demons? Killing people? You’ve got to be kidding me—that’s not what Dad wanted!”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I know, the details are off. Still. Dad was a single minded bastard obsessed with revenge. I’m still carrying his revenge torch, but I’m doing it for my own reasons.”

“I get it, Sam,” Dean snapped. “The world screwed you over. You want to throw a hormonal pity party, you don’t need to—”

“Hormonal pity party?” For the first time since he had entered the room, Sam sounded angry. He rose, radiating indignation and fury, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height. “Hormonal pity party? You want to talk about the world screwing me over? You don’t know half of it, Dean, and you could _never_ understand what I went through, what an entire third of the world goes through! This isn’t about me, Dean. The entire world is rotten and beyond saving. I’m doing everyone a favor in tearing it down.”

“Yeah?” Dean spat furiously. “How many people have you killed?”

“Not enough,” Sam replied darkly, stalking forward. This close, Dean could feel the heat of his brother’s breath, smell his familiar scent, laced with bloodlust, the sharp, pungent smell of rage. “Fifty, one hundred—it’s not even a start. It will be, though. I’m getting strong enough to take out the rest. That’ll be enough.”

“Why?” Dean demanded angrily. “What the hell did those people do to you?”

Sam laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Everything,” he responded viciously. “All of them. Even the ones who never met me—it doesn’t matter. They’re all responsible. Just as much as Dad was—hell, even you are. But there’s still hope for you, Dean,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “I know it. It’s not too late for you.”

Dean shook his head, because that didn’t make sense. “How do you blame people you never even met for the shit that happened to you?” he asked furiously.

“They participated in the system,” Sam answered casually. “Whether they meant to or not. All those laws that said I—all us Omegas—aren’t really human, all those laws that made it okay to torture us, and no one even said there was anything wrong with it. So maybe some of them never had Omega kids or grabbed an Omega off the street or bought one off the government. They also didn’t do anything to help.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean said resolutely, eyes narrowing to slits. That’s what this was all about? Some twisted sort of—of social justice crusade? It would be laughable, if he weren’t chained to a wall in some demon’s torture chamber, if his father wasn’t lying dead on the floor of some factory. If he knew that Cas was alive and safe, not trapped in a ring of fire somewhere.

Sam waved a careless hand. “I can guess,” he said coldly. “Anyways, they never made a difference.”

“Sammy—” the nickname came hard, thick and heavy in Dean’s mouth, the moniker of a little brother he could not see in the man before him. “If you want to go off on some social justice crusade, you can do that out in the world. Not in here with demons.”

“See, here’s the thing, Dean.” Sam took a step back, then another, settling down into his chair. “I can’t. Even if I hadn’t been kidnapped by a group of fucking knotheads, if I’d graduated Stanford-O like I planned, I never would have been able to do anything. I’d have been lucky to get some kind of secretary job. An entire legal degree, passing the bar—I wouldn’t have been able to do anything with it. Omegas don’t get that luxury. We just don’t count out there. And even if I had, so what? Working with a corrupt system to change that same system? It doesn’t work. The only thing to do is burn it down, and when that system is the whole world, the whole world has to go.”

“What about Bobby?” Dean asked desperately. “Or Caleb, or Pastor Jim? Hell, what about _Dad?”_

Sam sighed. “I’m doing enough of a service not culling you with the rest,” he said finally. “I can’t guarantee anyone else’s safety. As for Dad—he had to go, Dean.” Bright hazel eyes caught and held Dean’s gaze, burning with determination, edged with insatiable rage. “All the things he did to me, he had to go.”

Dean shook his head firmly. “Dad never did anything to you,” he responded vehemently. “Hell, he sprung your ass from that Omega center when you got caught. Never made you wear your collar in the room, either.”

“Oh, such a saint for that,” Sam snapped. “He signed the papers, Dean. I was twelve. Twelve! I was twelve, I was scared, and I begged him not to do it. He could have gotten suppressants and scent blockers under the table—”

“Those can kill you, Sam,” Dean interrupted furiously.

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, flicking a hand at Dean. Something cold and slimy lodged in Dean’s mouth, effectively gagging him. “You want to play the ‘Dad was a saint’ game, then we can play it. I was twelve years old, I was raped by some slimy alpha in a dive bar bathroom while you pranced around playing the stud and he drank himself blind, and when he found out what happened? Instead of helping me so I could live a normal life, he signed the fucking papers saying I was an Omega. It’s not a certificate of sex like they say. Those are slave papers. He might as well have sold me to the first Alpha who popped a knot smelling me.”

Dean glowered, struggling to speak around the invisible gag, to no avail. “That wasn’t the last time Dad failed me,” Sam said conversationally. “I knew it even then. They had to hold me down, you know. The peace keepers. Took three of them to pin me to the floor while a fourth buckled that damn collar around my throat. Too tight to breathe right, too. Dad had to buy them off to keep them from pressing charges, and he just—did it. Didn’t complain, didn’t say I had the right to fight my rapist, or to fight the people enslaving me. Just paid them off, took me home, and told me not to fight back when people tried to touch me. But no, he didn’t do anything wrong, right Dean?”

What exactly did Sam expect their father to have done? The man was already fighting a battle against the monsters and demons that threatened the entire world. They didn’t have time to start a civil rights battle! It wasn’t their prerogative—he had thought that his brother knew that. Helplessly, Dean wrenched at his chains, pleading silently for his brother to release the invisible gag.

Sam caught his eyes; a slight smirk pulled at his lips. “What, Dean?” he asked dryly. “Don’t like being gagged?” He chuckled as Dean glared. “Yeah, well, I didn’t either. Not that Dad gave a shit. Remember that old piece of shit town in Arkansas that said all Omegas had to be gagged in public? Supposedly that’s a civil rights violation, but it’s not for the Omegas. Nah, it’s because sometimes a really needy Alpha might want to fuck their Omega’s mouth in the bathroom stall or something, and it’s “cruel and unusual” for them to have to take time to get the gag out.” Sam laughed mirthlessly. “We were there for a week, Dean. That’s a week where I had to be gagged almost all the time. I think you can suck up a few minutes.”

But this wasn’t the same—surely Sam knew that. Dean rolled his eyes, shifting restlessly. “Anyways, back to the tale of Saint John. Basically threw me out when I went to school, and I’m assuming you know the rest. Got grabbed by a couple of knothead Alphas for daring to exist, got fucked and tortured into their perfect little slave, and then Azazel came.” Sam’s eyes softened at the mention of the demon; Dean’s stomach churned, sickened. It was the same look that had crossed John’s eyes the few times he had spoken of Mary without pain—a look of love, of devotion. Seeing it on his brother’s face, knowing that the expression was directed towards a demon—Dean could hardly think of anything worse.

“Azazel saved me,” Sam continued. “Got me out of there, helped me build my powers and find my purpose. And I have a purpose now, Dean. I’m not some desperate maniac trying to save a world that can’t be saved, and I’m certainly not some Alpha’s fucktoy. You can think what you want about demons, but at least they’re honest. They don’t pretend to be out for anyone but themselves. They don’t try to hide behind some pleasant veneer. What you see is what you get, and it’s no worse than any human.” Sam smiled. “Now, I’m going to take away the gag, Dean,” he said, all business, “and leave you to think. I’ll send your guards in to move you to a room in a little bit. Think long and hard about joining me, Dean. I guess I’ll be seeing you soon.”

The slimy sensation eased from Dean’s mouth; he licked his lips, staring helplessly at his brother. Sam rose, and casting him a final look, made for the door. The shadow of a demon just outside his prison slipped into his field of vision, and then the lights flicked off, the door shut, and Dean was swathed in darkness again.


	12. Torture Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets Alastair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really half a chapter. I owe you more after the last few missed updates, and thought I was going to get more done, but I essentially have the plague right now.... So. I wanted to get this up tonight, and unless illness-sleep strikes again with a vengeance worse than Sam's, I'll get the second half done an posted tomorrow. No promises, since it seems that as soon as I promise something in terms of an update, life makes it its mission to make a liar out of me.

He shouldn’t be disappointed by his meeting with Dean, Sam reminded himself. Of course Dean wouldn’t understand. Had there ever been an original thought in that brain of his? Had he _really_ expected that his oh-so-Alpha brother could ever understand where he was coming from? Furious—whether at Dean for his recalcitrance or at himself for expecting more of the man, he was not sure—Sam angrily paced his room, hands clenched into tight fists. He wished he hadn’t worn out his energy on that damn angel—he needed to vent his fury on something productive. But there was nothing he could do but wait to recharge and hope that the angel’s powers would not hold.

Dean liked the angel. Dean _worried_ about the angel. A year and a half, Sam had rotted in a living Hell and Dean hadn’t even cared to look him up, but a few minutes in a circle of holy fire and Dean was up in arms over the safety of his precious friend. It wasn’t fair! Sam whirled around and slammed his fist against the wall, skin scraping against rusted sheet metal. It hurt—not enough to distract him. “Damnit,” Sam hissed, glaring tiredly ahead.

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” The door creaked open as Ruby pattered into the room, leather-clad arms folded across her chest. “What’s the matter? The old family reunion didn’t go well?”

Sam glowered at the wall, wondering if he could burn a hole through it with the intensity of his gaze. Laser eyes would be a nice power, he mused. “I don’t know why I thought it would be different,” he replied finally. “I knew Dean would be pissed that I killed Dad, but I didn’t expect him to be so…”

“So much of an ass?” Ruby offered when Sam trailed off. Slim arms wrapped around Sam from behind as Ruby pulled him back against her, fingertips trailing idle patterns over his chest. “Come on, Sam. He’s got all the time in the world to come around. Unless you’ve changed your mind about killing him?”

Sam shook his head. “No,” he said fervently. “I know Dean. He might never pull his head out of his ass, but right now he’d rather die than see me side with demons. I’m not going to give him that mercy.”

Ruby snorted. “You’re getting sentimental,” she chided, pulling Sam away from the wall and steering him towards the bed. “Sit,” the demon ordered, pushing him down onto the mattress. From her pocket, the demon produced a small knife and offered it to Sam, hilt-first. “And you look like warmed over shit. Have a drink, calm down, and figure this out when you’re not so worked up.”

The wooden handle of the knife was warm in Sam’s palm, smooth and heavy and exactly what he needed. Sam’s mouth watered as he glanced up at Ruby, taking in her smooth, unblemished skin. Just that layer of skin separated him from her blood, thick and heady and sweet, everything he needed. He swallowed hard, running a thumb over the hilt of the knife.

Ruby nudged Sam’s leg with a booted foot, raising her eyebrows. “Are you going to stare at me all night? Maybe write a poem or paint a picture?”

Sam snorted, seizing her hand and clutching it tightly. He turned her arm over to expose the smooth, pale underside, laying the knife against her skin. A quick slice was all it took for the blood to trickle out, tangy, metallic scent flooding his nostrils. Desire—for Ruby, for her blood, for the high that came with every drink—spilled through Sam’s chest, and he mashed his lips against the wound, suckling down the thick stream of blood, lapping at the edges of the cut. One of Ruby’s hands tangled in his hair, holding his face against her skin, but he hardly noticed. It was too much; it was never enough. Bright, crackling energy sparked through his veins, revitalizing him, wiping away his exhaustion. No amount of blood could fully replenish his drained power reserves, not without rest, but this—this was almost enough.

Desire sated for the moment, Sam released Ruby’s arm and raised his head, licking traces of blood from his lips. “Better?” Ruby asked, scraping a fingernail lightly down the side of his face.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Sam said, offering her a tiny smile.

Ruby returned the smile with a slight smirk of her own. “You know that no matter what happens with Dean, you’ve got us,” she said, gently carding her hand through his hair. “Me, and Meg, and Azazel. We trust you to lead us, and we’re not going anywhere.”

“I know.” God, Dean would probably burst an artery if he heard Sam profess trust in any demon. The thought made Sam chuckle. He’d have to say something of the sort in front of his brother, just to watch Dean’s self-righteous shell crack in half. Wouldn’t that be the sweetest revenge?

They sat quietly for a moment, Sam riding his high down from manic energy to a more reasonable alert state. Finally, Ruby rose, pulling Sam off the bed with her. “Azazel’s got someone he wants you to meet,” she said, leading him towards the door.

“Yeah?” Probably some high-level demon, if Azazel himself was bringing the guy in. Sam just hoped that whoever the newcomer was, they weren’t expecting some display of glorious power. Perhaps later, when he had recovered from his attempts to take down the angel.

“Yep. Alastair. You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

The name sounded familiar, but Sam could not place a face to it. “Azazel’s mentioned him, I think,” he said slowly, following her down the hall.

“Hell’s greatest torturer,” Ruby said dryly, her voice sharp and brittle. “I can’t say I’m fond of him, but he’s good. Azazel brought him in to help with the angel.”

So that’s where Sam had heard the name before. “Honestly, I could use the help,” he admitted. “I knew angels would be powerful, but I could hardly touch him. It’s like trying to break down a wall with your bare hands.”

Ruby shuddered visibly. “Angels are a problem,” she mumbled. “They’ve got a lot more mojo than any demon. Not more than you’ll have when you get to full strength, though.”

Sam wished he could have as much faith in himself as Ruby did. They passed Azazel’s study, where the cracked door revealed that demon guards had followed Sam’s order to move Dean, and continued down the walkway to one of the main rooms.

Ruby pushed open the door and nudged Sam in, sidling after him, long blonde hair falling across her face as she bowed her head. Azazel stood at the center of the room, talking to a skeletal man, grizzly beard doing little to hide his weak chin. The pair glanced up at their entrance, and the stranger’s eyes flicked to a milky white before settling back to their more human appearance.

Sam had only met one white eyed demon before, and he couldn’t say he was fond of the memory. Lilith was cruel, even for a demon, and he couldn’t say that he approved of her penchant of taking over children. If Alastair was a master torturer, he was likely just as sadistic, but Sam could not dwell on that now. They needed the demon. “Azazel,” he said, greeting his mentor with a small smile. “And you’re Alastair?”

“One and the same,” the white eyed demon replied, an oily grin oozing over his face. “And you must be Sam, our famed human general. Mm, it’s a pleasure to meet you, boy.”

“Likewise,” Sam lied politely. “You’re here to help with the angel?”

“Indeed,” Alastair said, eyes flashing with dark anticipation. “Oh, how I’ve missed that one. Castiel, angel of Thursday, assuming he was telling the truth. And no one lies to me, not even angels—not when I’m through with them.”

Sam nodded. Frankly, he didn’t care to know the details of the demon’s torture methods. All that mattered was that he could bind an angel. “Do you want me to take you to him?” he inquired, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

“In a moment,” Alastair answered, taking a step forward. Sam shifted, struggling to hide his nerves as the demon stared at him with a scrutinizing gaze, his eyes seeming to bore right through Sam. “Well, you’ve got potential,” Alastair said finally, nodding. “I suppose I lose the bet, Azazel,” he added, addressing the other demon.

“I told you that a strong hunter would do better than any of the other weak-willed saps I got my hands on,” Azazel replied, baring his teeth in a grin.

Alastair hummed noncommittally. “Well, he’ll do,” the demon said, offering Sam a humorless smile. “Come on, then. Let’s go see how the angel is doing.”


	13. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is moved from Azazel's study to a new room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to various personal reasons relating to mental health, school, and friend/family drama, this story is going on hiatus. I'm really sorry, guys. It doesn't seem fair to keep you waiting for an update when I have no idea when I'll be able to get the next real chapter finished.
> 
> That said--it's just a hiatus. I'm not abandoning the story. I've got a lot on my plate right now, but it will pass. Hopefully it will only be a few more weeks before I can get back to writing properly, but I can't make any promises. I do hope that at least some of you will continue reading when I'm able to pick this up again, but if nothing else, thank you all for reading this far.
> 
> I'm still going to be around in a limited fashion, so I will reply to comments. Feel free to comment or message me on tumblr (ashitanoyuki-on-ao3.tumblr.com) if you have any questions about the status of this hiatus.

Dean estimated that he hung for at least another half-hour on the wall before Sam’s demon lackeys came in to move him. No amount of cursing and spitting at the silent, black-eyed bastards brought forth any sort of reaction; silent, they unlocked his shackles and pulled him off the wall, manhandling him down the hall and to a tiny, steel-walled room.

Yelling wouldn’t do him any good; it was clear that the demons were not going to rise to his taunts. Dean kicked at the door, which rattled but did not budge. He was stuck, locked away with nowhere to go.

Was this how Sam had felt all his life? Dean shoved the thought down. It didn’t matter—Sam was way off the rails, and at this rate, Dean wondered if it was even possible to get through to his brother. Throwing his lot in with _demons,_ like the bastards wouldn’t turn around and gut him as soon as they were done with him. Whatever the demons wanted with Sam, Dean had no doubt that they’d just kill him once they’d gotten it.

For lack of anything productive to do, Dean scouted out the room, taking in every detail. The examination hardly took any time; a small wooden bed with a thin pillow and mattress sat in the corner, shoved against windowless walls. A pair of buckets lay empty on the opposite side of the room—Dean knew damn well what those were for, but hopefully he wouldn't be here long enough to have to make use of them. Apart from the pitiful excuses for furniture, nothing but smooth steel walls and hard concrete floor met his scrutiny. Not so much as a loose coil or splinter of wood caught his fingers when he ran his hand over the bed; of course Sam would not be careless enough to leave Dean with any sort of lock pick.

It didn't matter. Resigned for the moment, Dean perched on the edge of the rickety bed, propping his chin on his palm and staring at the door. As soon as the demons came back, he'd blow his way through them. They could try to keep him here, sure, but they'd have to kill him to do it.


	14. Power of an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Alastair pay a visit to Castiel. This time, Castiel is ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really owe you guys a longer chapter, but this is what I've got for the time being. Apologies. I'm not quite ready to take up this story again full time, but consider this a reprieve from hiatus, and I will try to not take so long in updating again. Hopefully I'll be able to write coherently enough to get my chapters back up to standard soon?

Castiel was not sure if the flames were finally beginning to die down, or if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Flickering lights wreathed him, snapping merrily at about calf level, but he could have sworn that they had been up to his knees when the oil was first set ablaze. If only holy fire could be treated as ordinary flames, he could step over the ring and set off to find Dean, or at the very least save himself. The celestial properties of the fire, unfortunately, left him with less than a fraction of a percent of escaping without the flames roaring forth to engulf him entirely. Perhaps an archangel could manage it, but even that was doubtful.

The room surely had a sprinkler system, something that he could reach out and touch from his stationary prison, but it seemed that human ingenuity had grown exponentially in the centuries since Castiel had turned his gaze to earth; in any case, there was no doubt that the demons would have thought to ward anything he could use to escape. His best bet, then, would be to wait for a demon to come by and trick them into doing something—anything—that could get him out of this trap.

He did not have to wait long—perhaps a few hours of earthly time—before the sound of footsteps reached his vessel’s ears. If he strained, he could see beyond the flickering flames and into the gloom, his human eyes noting two men, his true eyes perceiving a warped human soul and the gross blasphemy of a demon.

He was not surprised to see that the human was Sam Winchester. Shoulders thrown back, rigid, the man walked directly to the edge of the flames, his boots planted solidly only a few inches from the outer rim of oil. “Hey, Castiel,” the man said, his voice hard, emotionless. “It’s Castiel, right? Dean called you Cas, so I guess that makes sense.”

Castiel glared at Sam, straightening his back and drawing up to Jimmy’s full height. He still felt puny in comparison to his true form. “The shadows around your soul have darkened,” he observed, straining to see the past the demonic black that swathed the man’s soul. “It is not too late for you to turn back now, but if you continue down this road, even Heaven will be unable to help you.”

Sam smiled tightly. “Good,” he said, his voice clipped. “That’s the plan. Enough chit-chat though, okay? I’ve brought you a visitor.”

Castiel turned his gaze towards the demon, his stomach clenching as he focused for the first time on the creature. His senses may have been dulled and bound for the majority of his time with the abomination, but one did not simply forget the true face of Hell’s most notorious torturer. “Alastair,” he hissed, glaring furiously at the demon.

“Well, hello hello, pretty angel,” Alastair murmured softly, his eyes twinkling with dark amusement. “Did you miss me? Mm, I know I missed you. All the fun we had together, and now you’ve come back for more.”

Castiel was not sure that the fear that knifed through his body was wholly irrational. He would be fine, he reminded himself. He had survived the tortures and indignities inflicted upon him by the demon with ease, even while bound. Still, the memories alone were unpleasant—to be forced to relive them was not a situation he would ever happily anticipate.

At least this time he knew what was coming. Limited by clumsy human motions, Castiel nevertheless primed himself for a fight, allowing his being to expand through to the edges of Jimmy’s body, wings flashing out behind him, the bright edges of his true form pressing against his vessel’s eyes, white light leaking through. He growled, allowing the barest traces of his true voice to seep out, mingling with the guttural sound produced by his vessel. Beside Alastair, Sam clapped his hands over his ears, face twisting with pain. Castiel growled louder, meeting Alastair’s eyes, gone wholly white, in challenge.

Beneath human skin, the demon gnashed its teeth at him. “A pretty display, that,” the creature said, voice barely controlled. “Too bad I know all your little tricks.”

“You have seen hardly any of what I can do,” Castiel hissed, fury lacing through his voice, louder and louder. Alastair bared his teeth, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut as trickles of blood dribbled from his ears and seeped through his fingers.

Alastair snarled in response, drawing a charm from his meat suit’s pocket, twisting the chain between his fingers. “Let’s see you sing so pretty when I have you bound again,” he growled, squaring his shoulders and stepping over the flames.

Unlike the last time he had encountered the demon, Castiel was prepared. No sooner had the demon stepped into the circle than Castiel launched himself at the creature, throwing him to the ground. “You will not bind me again,” Castiel hissed, seizing Alastair’s wrist and pinning it to the ground before the demon could press the sigil to his skin.

The inhuman noise that ripped from Alastair’s throat was painful even to Castiel’s ears, the pure fury and agony of Hell. Castiel snarled, shoving the demon hard across the floor. Alastair screamed as his meat suit came into contact with the circle of holy fire, flames crisping and bubbling the skin of his human body.

It was a window of opportunity that Castiel had not anticipated, and one that could end so, so badly. But if he did not act now, it could be days, weeks, months, before he had the chance to escape his prison. Castiel leapt to his feet and slammed his foot down on Alastair’s chest, pinning the creature to the hard floor. It was now or never. Castiel gathered his coat in close to his body and stepped, stepped, out of the circle of holy fire.

The flames did not roar up after him. Not a single ember lit upon his coat or burned against his vessel’s skin. Castiel spared a glance back; Alastair had rolled from the fire and was pushing himself to his feet. Sam stumbled towards him, pulling his hands from his ears, and he had to leave _now_ before his window of opportunity was snatched from him.

Castiel took a deep breath and cast his awareness around the complex, searching out the brightness of Dean’s soul. He lit upon a location, closed his eyes, spread his wings, and flew, vanishing from the warehouse proper and landing directly in front of his human counterpart.

Dean yelped, scrambling back across the bed. “Cas?” he said, disbelieving. “You—shit, you’re okay. How did you—”

“Later,” Castiel promised, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We must go now. They will be looking for me.” It was no trial to keep hold of Dean’s soul as he spread his wings once more, incorporeal limbs spreading invisibly from his vessel’s body. He cast his awareness around for a safe place, somewhere far, far away from the complex, and ensuring that Dean was still secure in his grasp, pulled them away from the demon’s stronghold.


End file.
